
Class __tiii|3.i2 
Book L!. '^ 



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TJB .Sc;,q[( 



TiiK Castle of Chillox. — Pa'j;e 164. 



The Poetical Works 



LORD BYRON 



MEMOIR AND EXPLANATORY NOTES 



miustrateti bg 



GARRETT, HASSAM, SCIIELL, WAUD 

AND OTHERS 






NEW YORK 
THOMAS Y. CROW ELL & CO. 

13 AsTOR Place 



T^i 



A-i'° 



? ■'i- 



Copyright, 
By T. Y. Crowell & Co. 

1884. 



THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 

BY ALEXANDER LEIGHTON. 



Geouc.R Gordon Loud liVKON was (lesocmlcd of a very anciont 
and illusti'ious family. 'I'lic ciU'liratoil Comniotloro Byron, an ac- 
count of whose sliiiiwiocks oner (kli^^hted so niuch the readers of 
adventures, was Ids grandfalher. His father was Captain l$yron, an 
extravagant and licentious man, wlio, after squandering liis own for- 
tune, married Miss (Gordon of (lirht, in Aberdeenshire, and got with 
her not only the i)roperty to which slie was heiress, but a consider- 
able sum of money, all of which he soon spent. The poet was born 
in London on the 22d of January, 17SS, two years after which his 
mother, in consequence of the death of her husband, left England, 
and took up lier residence at Aberdeen — a phicc suited to her now 
scanty resources, which were not supplemented by her liusbaiid's 
uncle, the then I>ord Dyrou, a retired and gloomy man, (jf an un- 
g'enerous spirit. 

F"or eight years the poet resided with his mother ; and here began 
that treatment wliich, acting on a generous but irritable mind, laid 
the foundation of a t:haracter marked by so many virtues, and so 
many otfeuees against good taste and public morals. His mother, 
whose life had been soured by the extravagant conduct of her hus- 
band, acted towards the boy — who was not only of a weak bodily 
habit, but deformed in one, if not both, of his feet — as if she had 
l)i'edeterniined to make Ins moral nature of that* anomalous charac- 
ter it afterwards e.'dubited, the 'neans she employed being indul- 
gence, not always deserved, and severity, as seldom merited. These 
clicrishcd his natural hastiness of temper, as well as ])ainpcred his 
proud wilfulness, until the one hastened to irascibility, and the other 
to a selfish defiance of every one about lum. All the good tenden- 
cies of his fine nature were thus weakened and misdirected, and all 
the bad ones were aggravated and dccjicned. To this was added a 
constant change of teachers, as well as methods of teaching, without 
reference to the ai)ilities or inclinations of the boy, and llie conse- 
quence resulted in an almost ai)solute indilferenec to all studies. 

V 



Vi LIFE OF LOUD BVROy. 

We have some glimpses of his boyhood while at Aberdeen. lie 
was never forward in his school work, and was ahvaj's far down in 
the class at the day-school to. which he had been sent; but while thus 
indiiferent to the exercises of the head, he was even now, in his very 
boyhood, showing how stronjj: was the emotional clement in his na- 
ture. A deep impression was made upon his heart when no moi'c 
than eight years of age by a young girl of the name of Mary Duff. 
So genuine had been this carh' love, that even in 1813, when he was 
twentj'-fivc years of age, he confesses that the news of Mary Duff's 
marriage was like " a thunderstroke, — it nearly choked mc, to the 
horror of my mother, and the astonishment and incredulity of almost 
everybody." About the same time, on recovering from scarlet fever, 
he was sent for fresh air to a farmhouse near Ballatcr. The house 
has become famous ; and the bed where the poet lay is still pointed 
out as Boron's bed. It was here probably that he was impressed 
with the grandeur of Iligliland scenery ; for a short walk sufficed to 
bring him to dark Ijochnagar, that mountain which inspired almost 
the earliest, certainly the best, of the early efforts of his muse. It 
is even said, in praise of the overlaid aspirations of his better nature, 
that the peace and innocence that reigned among these grand dis- 
plays of nature haunted him amidst the fevered excitement of a 
conventional, if not dissipated life. In the "Island," a poem written 
not long before his death, he let slip some thoughts which have refer- 
ence to these carl}" worshippings of his better nature : 

" r>ut 'twas not all long ages' lore, nor all 
Their nature held me in tlieir tlirilling tlirall; 
The infant raptnre still survived the boy. 
And Loclniagar ^vith Ida luuU'd o'er Troy." 

Ilis mother's regidar system of spoiling continued till his eleventh 
year, when the death of his granduncle made him the possessor of 
a noble title and a large property; hut it did not end here. Unfor- 
tunately, the mother was left by the guardians to take her own way 
with the now young lord; and as if his good fortune had inflametl 
her desire to perfect the worlc she had so early begun, she had re- 
course to new methods, — one of which consisted in subjecting him 
to fruitless operations for the purpose, no doubt well designed, of 
curing his lameness, but the effect of which was only to sink deeper 
into his mind the bitter regret of his infirmity, and to increase that 
misanthropy which had been gradually rising oitt of asperity. It 
has been even said, we hope untruly, that his mother was in the 
habit of taunting him with this ttnfortunatc deformity, — conduct so 
cruel and gratuitous, as to require a better proof than it has j-et 
I'cceived. 

On his removal to an excellent private school at Dulwich, tinder 
Dr. Glennie, it was very soon seen what benefit resulted from a ces- 
sation of the mother's authority, for here he manifested much im- 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON. yJi 

provcmont botb in temper and industry ; and had it not been for the 
still constant interferences from home, the world might have been 
saved the pain of seeing genius clouded by moral iniirmities. Even 
here, long visits to home broke in upon his studies, and sent him 
back to begin anew a course of amendment. 

On his next removal, to Harrow, new hopes %vere inspired; and 
though lie proved himself often rebellious, and a not very careful 
student, especially of the classics, lie went through a great deal of 
miscellaneous reading. Then, on all hands, he was admired for his 
generosity, and courted for his spirit. It was in 1803, while spend- 
ing the vacation at Nottingham, near Ncwstead, and before he had 
reached his eighteenth year, that he met a j'oung lad)', Miss Cha- 
worth, the heiress of Annesley, an extensive estate in the neighbor- 
hood of his patrimonial mansion. His senior by two years, and 
gifted with both beaut}' and intelligence, she was calculated to have 
redeemed him from his errors without abating the enthusiasm of his 
genius; tnit the young lady, besiilcs l)eing engaged, saw nothing in 
him to attract her, or even stir her sympathy. Instead of regarding 
him as one worthy of being a candidate for her hand, she looked 
upon him as a mere schoolbo)'. Byron was not slow to see this, and 
liis eyes were still more efifectually opened when it was reported to 
him that she had used the expression, " Do you think I would care 
anything for that lame boy ?" Yet all this did not cure his love — if 
it did not, according to the common rule, increase it. Though there 
is said to have been some romance in this attachment, founded on 
the fact of a near relative of the young lady having been killed by 
the prior Lord Byron in a duel, it seems to be the general opinion 
that his atlection was not oul}' not a mere flitting feeling, but perhaps 
ujore generous and ardent than any love he ever entertained after- 
wards; but it seems to have been B^'ron's fcitc to have had all out- 
wartl po\\ers and agencies ever ready to intercept his return to mod- 
eration and prudence. Of this lady he says : 

" There was but one beloved face on earth, 
And that was shilling; on him ; he had look'd 
Upim it till it could not pass away; 
He had no breath, no being, but in liers: 
She was his voice; he did not speak to her. 
But trembled on her words : she was his sight, 
For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers, 
Which color'd all his objects: — he had ceased 
To live within himself; she was his life." 

In another part of the same poem he alludes to her melancholy 
fate — derangement : 

" The Lady of his love: — Oh, she was changed, 
As by the sickness of the soul; her mind 
Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes 
They had not their own lustre, but the look 
Which is not of the earth ; she was become 
The queen of a fantastic realm." 



viii LIFE OF LORD JJYROX. 

Tlie latter disappointment, or this love all on one side, tended still 
further to confirm the early tendency to misanthropy which had its 
beginnings in his deformity and his mother's treatment. Yet so 
flexible is human nature — drawing strength from weakness — that his 
genius, as Goethe says, was pain. Even he himself admits that the 
very misfortune lie so often regretted was the source of the power 
which he wielded, though probably it is more true that it only 
affected the direction of that power. In " The Deformed Trans- 
formed " he says : 

" Doforaiity is (laring-. 

It is its essence to o'ortake niaiikiiitt 

By heart and soul, aiut malce itself the equal — 

Ay, the superior of the rest. There is 

a" spur in its halt movements, to become 

All that the others cannot, in such things 

As still are free to both, to compensate 

For stepUame Nattire's avarice at iirst." 

Entered at Trinity College, Cambridge, in the autumn of 1805, he 
resided there for two j'ears. It is admitted that, when the humor 
seized him, he read avariciously, and thus acquired a great amount 
of varied and stray knowledge ; but in the midst of these acquisi- 
tions, which he sometimes poured forth, changed by the alchemy of 
his rising genius, so as to produce the impression that he was a 
young man of no ordinary promise, he was eccentric, profuse, and, 
in school langitage, idle. Signally a fast young man, he differed 
from his associates only in being often clouded in melancholy, and 
probably struggling with aspirations. lie never loved either Cam- 
bridge or its learning, while all the self-will of his nature was ar- 
rayed against the laws and restrictions of the universit}', as well 
as those who administered them. The ecclesiastical authority was, 
in particular, distasteful to him, for already he was seized witli 
that spirit of scepticism which is ever allied to misanthropic tenden- 
cies, and this, again, brought down upon him the significant sus- 
picion of his teachers. Tlie dissociation from stiidies was in him 
another name for an utter resignation of both mind and body to his 
impulses. The fervency of his nature, not yet gratified by poetry, 
got relief in swimming and bo.xing; but here again his evil fate was 
in the way, for as his deformity had stood between him and his love, 
so now it militated against his suc<;ess in competition, not that he 
was not Iwth energetic and expert, but that he felt he might have 
been triumphant had he been more auspiciously formed. And 
it was not this drawback alone that he had to lament; which, if he 
had treated it as Scott did his similar infirmity, might have been 
borne with resignation and without loss, but he began at this time to 
show tokens of obesity, another evil which, as an infliction unmer- 
ited, he resented while he struggled against. 

In the midst of all this he rushed into poetry, which, however, was 
only a continuation of a tendency already exhibited, for while at Dr. 
Glennie's at Didwich he had struck off pieces to his cousin, Miss 



LIFE OF LORD BTROX. ix 

Maa-garet Parker. This lie considered to have been liis first effort; 
but his nurse, Maiy Gray, who was not likely to have forgotten so 
important an exploit in the strange youth, represents him as having 
discharged a satire at an old lady who had angered him in some 
way. His efforts at Cambridge, however, had all the fire and rash- 
ness of a first burst. The pieces circulated from hand to hand be- 
fore any were printed; but at length a small part of them were put 
to press. The first copy was presented to the Eev. John Bcchcr, 
Southwell, whom he considered his friend, as no doubt he was; and 
probably that gentleman gave evidence of his sincerity in expostu- 
lating with him on the unwarranted " luxuriousness of coloring " in 
one specimen, whereupon the impatient youth instantlj'' ordered the 
whole stock to be burned. Only two copies remained — Mr. Becher's 
own, and one that found the way to Edinburgh. A reduced edition 
appeared in 1807. 

Now came the turning-point of his life, in the publication of " The 
Hours of Idleness ; " for though the volume itself presented a col- 
lection, from the very best of which, such as the beautiful stanzas to 
" Lochnagar," one avouUI scarcely have ventured to presage the 
powers reserved for him to exhibit, it was destined to be noticed in 
the great literarj- organ of the day, the Eclinburffh Revicio, and to 
be handled in a manner to rouse the energies of the author. It has 
been often said that the reviewer had a grudge to satisfy, which was 
apparent, not only in the harsh treatment of so young an aspirant, 
but in the very circumstance of taking up so apparently a trifle ; and 
probably, notwithstanding disclamations, there was at least political 
feeling or democratic ill-nature. At any rate, nothing more auspi- 
cious could have occurred to Byron, who, the reverse of John Keats, 
was as unlikely " to die of an article" as he was likely to make the 
reviewer die of a satire. Anger collected the scattered beginnings 
of his strength to a centre where it could be felt. Having studied 
the satirical poets as models, and collected every available bit of 
gossip floating at the time, he, in 1809, poured forth his wrath, all 
the warmer for the nursing he had given it, in his " English Bards 
and Scotch Reviewers." Pointed in its abusive personalities, and 
contemptuous, witliout any discrimination, of all the literary charac- 
ters of the day, this poem exhibited powers which only wanted ma- 
turation to achieve very great things, though not so great as he 
achieved. Yet it is certain that Byron was subsequently ashamed of 
this satire, not that it was satirical, nor that it was destitute of merit, 
but rather that the men against whom it was chiefly directed, showed 
they had the art of heaping coals of fire on his head. On a copy 
which he perused long after, lie wrote the following words : — " The 
binding of this volume is considerably too valuable for its contents. 
Nothing i)ut the consideration of its being the property of another 
prevents me from consigning this miserable record of misplaced 
anger and indiscriminate acrimonv to the flames." Yet he wa? '^t 



X LIFE OF LORD BYRON'. 

the time cng:!ijied in pcrfonniiig an office of the same kind on human 
nature in g'enerul. The man was probahly not chanjied, except that 
his love of sinfjiilarity was increased. It is said that when ho read 
the review he dnuik three bottles of claret at ih'nncr — an act probably 
ffemiine enough in sincerity, but when lie afterwards regretted his 
revenge, he could ridicule very sacred conventionalities amontr man- 
kind. Even his own g-ood fortune did not escape his satire, as wlicn, 
on coming- of age, he celebrated the oce-asioii, and some say the an- 
niversary, by dining on eg^gs and I)acon :\iid a bottle of ale, adding, 
long aftcnvai-ds, to the reminiscence, " but as neither of them agrees 
witlv me, I never use thcia but on great jubilees, oucc in four or five 
years oi*so." 

Such things, and many other eccentricities subsequently recorded — 
among the earliest of which was his epitaph on the dog buried at 
Newstcad, wherein he gives the dog a soul and a far higher charac- 
ter than num, the eoramon object of his revilings — all indicate the 
prevailing eirorof his mind, pride showing itself in singularity. AVe 
have used the word misanthropy, but really, as respects Byron, it is 
altogether misapplied. No man with so suscgptible a heart for 
IViendship, and stich a relish for the good things of life — nay, a 
generosity of soul where his aOcctions pointed out the object, covdcl 
be said to l>e a genuine misanthrope. It was altogether with him a 
stage character. In that gar!) he had conciliated the people till he 
became an idol, and falsely supposed, that while his idolaters admired 
him, they also pitied him for the misfortune of being singular and 
gloomy. Not but that his soul spurned pity in the common sense, 
only it was a homage to his fate, and he gloried in being under the 
special dominion of a power which, like the Titans, he at the same 
time battled against. 

There was another reason win' Byron persisted in appearing in an 
aspect not expressing his true nature. His friends blindly took the 
young lord for what, in his poetry and juvenile escapades, he de- 
clared himself to be. They atvordingly I)cg"!in early to stand aloof 
from him. Even liOrd Carlisle, his guartlian, fell into this error; 
nor can we have better evidence of this mistake than the fact, that 
when Lord Byron took his seat in the House of I^ords in 1809, thero 
was no one to introiluce him, so there was induced an aiction ami a 
reaction, all the consequents of a false move, and yet increasing on 
and on to the time of his death. But perhaps the licst evidence we 
can have of the absolute domination of his love of singularity lies in 
the fact, that, though he often regretted his iuipruilences, his regret 
had always the acerbity of a ri't:diatio\i against the punishment iu- 
tlicted by tliose who sutfcrcd from the act regretted. 

It was, accordingly, under a feeling of something approaching to 
disgust, that he resolved upon leaving England, on a two years* ab- 
sence, with INIr. Ilobhouse, suhseouently Lord Broughton. It was 
iu July, 1809, that h<i left Falmouth on this, lus it turned out, poetical 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 



XI 



pil<jrimajro, ill Ihc course of wliifli lin visited tlic Peninsula, extended 
his travels to (u'oeee and Turkey, and, with his <;enius now inlhimed 
by romantic objects, composed in great part tlie first and second parts 
ol'"(_"hihlc Harold's Pil;^rimagc." It maybe interesting to trace 
these wanderings, destined to become, by the publication of the 
l)ocm in 1812, so famous. 

After touching at Lisiion, Cadiz, and Gibraltar and Malta, he 
arrived at Prcvesa in All)ania, from which he proceeded on a tour 
through the provinces of Turkey, arriving at Athens. Ilei-e he spent 
a considerable time examining the monuments of ancient philosophy 
and freedom, which were afterwards to ins])ire his muse in her most 
amiable lit. He lived w^ith the English Vicc-t'onsul, and there met 
one of his daughters, the celebrated Theresa IMacri, so well known 
as "the ^laid of iVlhcns,"— a ladj' of great beauty, who was after- 
wards married to Mr. IJlack, a gentleman only known for his posses- 
sion of so famous a woman, and of great strength of body. Lord 
Byron subsccpienlly went to Constantinople, where he accomplished 
the feat of swinnning across the IIelles])ont, professedly in imitation 
of Leander in his visit to Hero. Of this feat he ini;:lit very well be 
proud, as the distance, though direct not more than a mile, is fully 
three if you count the elfect of th.e euj'rcnts; and though he did 
not come back again, it requires to be remembered that he swam for 
ambition, not for love of a beautifid woman. After all, the task wa-s 
nothing to what he acc()mi)lished afterwards; for, on this occasion, 
he was only an liour and ten minutes in the water, whereas, in the 
(Jrand Canal of Venice, he was four hours and twenty minutes. 
He returned to Athens in the month of July, and took some excur- 
sions in the Morea, his head-quarters being the monument of Lysi- 
crates, or Lantern of Diogenes, — a building somewhat resembling 
Dugald Stewart's monument on the Calton Hill of Edinburgh. Here 
ho wrote his satire upon London life, and collected notes for his 
"Childe Harold." 

In this journey Ihc two years expired. In the meantime, his 
mother, living at Xcwstcad, was under a presentiment that she would 
never see him again, although the state of her health did not indi- 
cate a near dissolution. Yet so it turned out in a manner favorablv 
to mystery, and yet not untrue to her character. It would appear 
that the very preiiarations she made for his return hastened the ful- 
filment of her augury ; for the sight of some upholsterers' bills threw 
her into such a frenzy of passion, that she expired just as Byron was 
posting to Ncwstead. lie Wiis only in time to bury her. On the 
occasion of the funeral, a circumstanee occurred wdiicli can liaidly 
he accounted for, even by a confirmed love of eccentricity, not less, 
indeed, than by insanity. He did not accompany the remains of his 
mother to the vault, but stood at the entrance-door of the mansion, 
looking with immeaiiing eyes at the procession; and no sooner had 
it disappeared, than, putting on a pair of boxing-gloves, he began a 



xii LIFE OF LORD BYROX. 

s]i;in-inrr match with a boy-scrvaiit, selected on the instant as hi'^ 
antagonist. It is said that if lie had not known that this would l)c 
recorded, lie never would have perlbrnied it. Perhaps thi> may ho 
true, and vet there is a kind of iihilosoi)liy which would tind another 
cause, if not an c:;cnse. Ohedience to grief is natural, but there is 
a rebellion against what may be called the cruelty of Fate, which 
is only nunatural, because seldom witnessed. It U quite certain that 
he lamented bitterly the loss of his parent; for, a few nights before, 
he was found sitting in the dark by her corpse, and when expostu- 
lated with, answered, "O Mrs. Ijy., I had but one friend in the 
world, and she is gone." And about a month afterwards, he is 
found writing to ISIr. ISInrray : " Your letter gives me credit for more 
acute feelings than I possess; for though I feel toleralily miserable, 
yet I am at the same time subject to a kind of hysterical merriment, 
o;- ratiier laughter without merriment, which I can neither account 
for nor conquer." This is an e\i)lanation of what appears to be an 
anomaly, which, in place of being dishonorable to the feelings, how- 
ever antagonistic to worldly jirudence and decorum, may be construed 
as a weakness overshadowing strengtii, and ]>nrtlucing an abnormal 
condition of the heart, to which we are witnesses in the case of ex- 
citable women every day. 

Byron made his llrst speech in Parliament on 27th Fcbriuny, 1S12, 
on the occasion of the Nottingiiaiu Franie-breakiiig Hill; and two 
days tliereafier appeared the two first cantos of "Childe Harold." 
It was on the success attending this work that he uset'l the well- 
known worils, " I awoke one morning and found myself famous." lie 
was now twenty-four, and at this early age became the most popular 
poet that perhaps England ever saw, — and thus like our Burns as 
regards Scotland. Byron had a style peculiarly his own, and so un- 
like that of tlie reigning favorites, VVordsworth and Coleridge, that 
the people were delighted with a medium of reacliing their iiearts 
free from the obscure philosophy of the one, and the ilreainy n\eta- 
physics ol the other. He seemed to liberate them from a bondage 
as their sympathies found ])lay in his clear language, ra])id turns, 
and penetrating flashes. Nor less did his poetry resemble Scott's 
metrical romances, whose homeUncss, if not often heaviness, con- 
trasted unlavcn-ably with the new poet's stirring How of alfections, 
which, if more conventional, were fresher and more in aceordanec 
with modern habits of both thinking and feeling. Even in his talcs 
which came afterwards, Byron charmeil away the admirers of his 
northern rival, whose popularity waned visibly every day. 

In rapid ^^nccession now came the beautiful fragmout " The 
fiiaour," the less regular " Bride of Abydos," " The Corsair," and 
its sequel " Lara." During all this period, when his fame culminated, 
he is represented as being little better than mad; but it was the 
madness of one who had striven for superiority as a blessing that 
was to cure his spirit of many ills, and found that hi-; appetite lor 



LIFE OF LOUD BYRON. xiii 

fame sickened upon what it, fed. This is less or more the effeet of 
all ainhilioii; hut, in Uyron it took a stranpc aspcet. On 0th Dceem- 
biT, hsl3, a|>pc:irs tliis entry in his Joiirn;il :— " This journal is a 
relief. Wlien 1 am tired— as I generally am— out eonics this and 
down ffoes cverythin<;. But I can't read it over; and (Jod knows 
Nvhat eontradietions it may contain. If I am severe with myself, 
(but I feur one lies more near to one's self than to anyone else,) 
every pa'xe should confute, refute, and utterly a! 'jn re its predecessor." 
In a paroxysm, of which the cause is not known, he wrote to his pub- 
lisher, with an order that all his writings should l)e immediately 
destroyed; hut on a representation from j\Ir. jNIiuTay, he agreed, 
like a "child, to moderate counsel. In hSlG, the first and most charac- 
teristic portion of Byron's works terminated with "The Siege of 
Corinth" and "Tarisina." 

While thus biiildinjiC up his poetical fame, his domestic history 
underwent a change. Ilis friends, really anxious for a return on the 
part of this extraordinary man to those pleasures which can only he 
found within the precincts of morality and the domestic lares, heard 
with much satisfaction that he had paid his addresses to the daughter 
of Sir Balph Milhankc, and with still more, that he had been ac- 
cepted. Things looked propitious: even the unseen powers seemed 
to he pleased, if we arc to believe that his mother's n)arriage-ring, 
which had been lost, was dug up by the gai'dener at Ncwstead on the 
very day iNIi-is ^Milbanke's acceptance reached the poet. In 181."), they 
were married. In the same year, Lady Byi-on bore hirn a daughter, 
the Ada so often alluded to by him, ami who afterwards married 
Lord Lovelace. But the marriage proved unha|)py ; and in the 
beginning of 1S16, she (initted her husband's house never to return. 
During the whole of this time, Ncwstead must have presented an 
extraordinary scene in many respects. The (juarrels have not trans- 
pired; but the pecuniary embarrassments into wliich Byron liad 
precipitated himself wm-e too open to be hidden. The house w^as 
nine times in the ))ossession of bailiff's; and although Lady Byron 
had not left, it is eei-tain that Byron himself would liave been 
necessitated again to leave England. His pride was so far lunnhled, 
too, that he consented to receive payment for ids writings— a kind of 
remuneration which he had heretofore considered a degradation. 

The secret of this dittercncc has long been one of those domestic 
mysteries calculated to engage the attention of a curious pidilic. It 
is certain thiit many attempts were made by friends at reconciliation; 
but where the lady was under the impression that her husband was 
insane, there could he no hope of such a result. In the mid:5t of the 
confused negotiations it came out that her ladyship condescended on 
no fewer than sixteen evidences of insanity, but the precise character 
of these has never come to the public ear, so that the curiosity which 
ought to have abated with a mere knowledge of the imputation, 
rather increased. Of course, Lord Byron was no more insane than 



xiv LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 

lie ever luul been. The world is full of such maniacs, who are 
ot'ten, by kind treutnicut, brout;ht to become pass:il)!o, oven very 
hjving', husbands. ]}yron had no faidt to find wilh her, and was 
ready to endjracc the lirsl opportunity of trying' to build u)) auain a 
household peace; but even after the friends of bolli prouDUUced lor 
his sanity, the lady took another position still more hopeless — that if 
he were sane, he was still more ol)jectionable, in so far that his dis- 
respect towards her must have resulted from intention. The truth 
would appear to be, that she had reallj' never loved him with that 
ancction which is so i;reat a conciliator, smoothing down so man}' of 
the as))erities of married life, and even chanji'inLr faults into virtues. 
The one expression alone of his Lordship jiroves that he was not a 
marital impossibility, — " 1 never had, nor can have, any reproach to 
nuike to her while with me. Where there is blame, it belonjrs to 
mj'self ; and if I cannot redeem it, 1 must bear it." The man who 
wrote this mi;;'ht have been won. 

But the lady's part was, of course, taken by the public. An outcry- 
was raised against Byron, who, soon after, left England, never to set 
foot in it again. His first residence was in tUe'vicinity of Geneva, 
where the sublime scenery of Switzerland and the sympathies of 
.Shelley contributed to raise his poetic enthusiasm into higher ;>nd 
purer vigor than it had yet attained. The "Prisoner of Chilbm" 
was written here, and also the third canto of " Childe Harold ; " but, 
iieyond all, the inllucnce of the surrounding scenery gave birth to 
" Manfred," a poem deriving a gi'andeur from physical locale and 
supernatural imagery which renders it nearly unique in ourlangiuigc. 
15ut in the midst of this poetical labor, smd it is feared much dissipa- 
tion, he was not a hajipy man. There is a nielancboly passage in 
ills " .Journal " which has been often quoted. " In all this, recollec- 
tions of l)iltcrness, and more especially of recent aiul more homo 
desolation which must accompany me through life, have pre3'ed upon 
inc here, and neither the music of the shepherd, nor the crashing of 
the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, 
nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon my 
heart, nor enabUul me to lose my own wretched identity in the 
majesty and the power and the glory around, al)ove, and beneath 
me." It is questionable how far this melancholy was not due to a 
condition of the body induced l)y absurd diet. The hoi-ror of obe- 
sity still haunted bini, and the means he took to diminish it are 
scarcely credible. " .\ thin slice of bread," says Aloore, " with tea 
at breakfast, a light vegetable dinner, with a bottle or two of selt/er 
water, tiniied with vin. dc grave, and in the evening a etiji of green 
tea, without milk or sugar, formed the whole of his sustenance. The 
pangs of hunger he appeased by privately chewing tobacco and 
smoking cigars." In the end of 181(5 he took np his residence in 
\'enice, where he remainetl for three years, sometimes betaking 
himself to Home, antl collecting materials for the fourth canto of his 



LIFE OF LORD BYRON. ^V 

great poem. His residence in Venice was shaded hy lia))its which 
are said to have readied a low and gross debauchery; nor was his 
connection, something more lasting than his otJicr loves, witli the 
Countess (iuiccioli, though patronized by the husband and l)rotber, 
any improvement, at least to English feelings. In 1820 he followed 
the Countess and her family to Ravenna, where, through tlicni, he 
got engaged in political plots, the consequence of which was the 
l)anisiimeut of his Itulian friends from the Papal States. Pisa then 
became the al)odc of the party, where Byron received Mr. and ISIrs. 
Shelley, and afterwards ]\Ir. I^cigh Hunt, and where they attemi>ted 
the unsuccessful i)criodical, tiie Liberal. 

At this stage of his life there occurs a touching incident. It hap- 
pened that a young lady in Hastings made an cntiy in her diary, 
containing a solemn prayer for one vciy clearly pointed out as Lord 
Byron. She afterwanis married a Mr. Sheppai-d, in Dorsetshire, 
and died in 1819. Two years afterwards, that gentleman, who had 
seen the entry, wrote to Lord Byron with a pious communication. 
Byron returned a prompt answer, allowing the advantage believers 
have over unln-licvers, and saying that his scepticism was a necessity 
of his nature, yet almost hoping that he wf)uld be like Maiijicrtius 
and Henry Kii'ke White, who l)cgan in infidelity and ended with a 
firm lielicf. It is to l)e feared that this hope was never realized. 

\\'liilc in Italy, Byron's poetical vein flowed freely. In addition to 
"Manfred" and the last canto of "Cin'lde Harold," and several 
works rather poor, he produced " Mazcppa," " The Lament of 
Tasso," and his dramas, wiiich, with the exception of "Cain," 
showed signs of moral improvement, though rather a falling off of 
poetical vigor. Though possessed of no great versatility, he had a 
vein for a grotesque humor, something of the Italian cast, approach- 
ing the ludicrous, yet admitting freely of extpiisite descriptions. His 
first attempt in this direction was " Bcppo," with its ethic;d loose- 
ness, pervading, like a crawling seii'ient among flowers, very noble 
poetry. The same remarks apply to " Don Juan." As connected 
with this phase of his ciiaractcr, we may notice that he had always 
exhibited a tendency to practical joking. Witness the present of 
a Bil)le he made to Mr. Murray, and of which that gentleman 
was so proud — showing it to his friend.s — until he discovered that 
Byron had put his pen througii the word " roiier," in the sentence, 
" Now Barabbas was a robber," and replaced it by " piibUHhcr." All 
this is very alien from a chai-acter of sullen misanthropy. Timon 
never jokes ! 

Byron left Pisa, in 1822, in consequence of a quarrel with some 
official, and also because tlie (iuiccioli were ordered to (piit the terri- 
tories of Tuscany. He rejoined them in fienoa. In the meantime 
Shelley had been <lrowned, and soon altera field ol" activity was opened 
to him of a new kind. The London Committee of Piiiliiellenes re- 
quested him to take part in the emancipation of Greece, and he 



Xvi LIFE OF LORD BYRON. 

enthusiastically accepted the invitation. Sailing;' from Genoa in 1823, 
he aiTived soon after at Ccphalonia, where lie l)c;j:an his patriotic 
exertions. In January, 1821:, he landed at Missolon<rhi. lie was now 
laboririfT under illness, which lie had ay-jTravated by bathing in the 
sea during his prior voyage. The great object of his expedition was 
fraught with disappointment to one who had sung of (Jreecc as 
Greece once Avas. His hcallh v.as further injured by imprudent ex- 
posure to cold in an iiidicalthy climate, and l)y many anxieties which 
he never expressetl. lie perhaps treated himself unwisely ; having 
a great antipathy to obesity, he was always endeavoring to reduce it. 
In Circecc he lived upon dry bread, vegetables, and cheese; and to 
notice the effect of Ins dietetics, he used to measure his wrist and 
waist every morning, taking medicine if he found an increase. On 
tlie 9th of April he got wet through, and fever and rheumatic pains 
came on. On the IStli he got up and attempted to read, but shortly 
became faint and returned to bed. lie died of this fever, with, it is 
supposed, its accompanying inllammationof the heart, on tiie follow- 
ing day. It is said that a thunder-storm broke over the town at the 
moment of his decease — a clear sign to the Goajcks that the ]jrodigics 
of tl«ur old country arc not yet ended. His remains were taken to 
Eug^*ud, and interred in the family vault in the church of llucknallo 



CONTENTS. 



Life of Loud Byron, 

The Corsair: 

Canto I., ... 

Canto 11 

Canto HI., . 
Lara : 

Canto I., . 

Canto 1 1., 
The Giaouu, .... 
TuE Bride of Abydo.s : 

Canto I., ... 

Canto IL, .... 
The Siege of Corinth, 
Parisina, .... 
The Prisoner of Chillon, 
The Dream, .... 
The Lament of Tasso, 
Manfred. A Dramatic Poem, 
Heaven and Eauth. A Mystery, 
Cain. A ^Mystery, . 
The Curse of ]Minerva, . 
Mazeppa, .... 

The Prophecy of Dante, 

Canto L, . 

Canto II., 

Canto III 

Canto IV., 

Fkanc'ESCA of Bimini. From the Inferno of Dante 
Hebrew Melodies : 

She walks in beanty, 

The harp the monarch minstrel swept. 

If that hij.di world, 



The wild Gazelle, .... 
Oh ! weep for those, • . . . 
On Jordan's banks, .... 
Jcphtlia's Daughter, j . . . 
Oh ! snateh'd away in Beauty's bloom, 
2 



Canto Y 



PACK 

V 



1 

K 
27 

43 

56 
70 

100 

no 

127 
149 
1(53 
173 
178 
184 
214 
240 
284 
291 
309 
311 
315 
317 
321 
325 

327 
327 
S2S 
323 
329 
329 
329 
330 



XVIU 



coxTEyrs. 



IIkhkkw Mr.i.oDiKS. — (\)!i tinned. 

]My soul is (l:irU 

1 s;iw tlu'o wi'i')!, ..... 

Tliy d;i_vs ■AW (li)iic 

8oii^- (if Smil lu'l'oiv his Lust BattK^ 

Saul 

"All is vanity, saitli tlio rroat'luM-," 

M'lu'ii foliluoss wrajis this suU'oriui;- clay, 

Vision (il lU'lsha/zar, 

Sun of the sU'i'ploss, ..... 

Were my bosoui as false us thou iloom'st it to ho, 

lIiToil's Lament for Mariumue, 

(hi the Day of tlie Destruction of .lerusalem by 

By the rivers of Bahylon we sal down and wi')U, 

The Destruction of 8ennaclierih, 

A Spirit pass'd before me, .... 
Ilouus OF Idlkni'.ss. Preface 

On the Death of a Youni;' Ladv, . 

ToE , . . . . '. 

ToD 

Epitaph on a Friend, ...... 

A Fraji'ment, 

'":, leavin;; Newstead Abbey, .... 

Lines, , . 

Adrian's Address to his Soul when dyinir, 

Translation from Catullus, .... 

Translation of th.c l''pitapli on \'iri:il and 'I'ibidli 

Imitation ol" TibuUus, 

Translation iVom Catullus, .... 

Imitated from Catidlus, .... 

Translation from Horace, 

From Anacreon, 

From Anacreon, ...... 

From the I'romctheus ^■iuctus of .Eschylus, 

To Enunu, 

To .NL S. C, 

To Caroline, 

To Caroline, ....... 

To Caroline, ....... 

Stanzas to u Lady, .... 

The lirst Kiss of Love, 

C)n 11 Cluuifie of Masters at a jireat Public School, 

To the Duke of Dorset, 

FiiJ>rmeMt, 

(.iranta. A ]\[cdlcy 

Ou a Distant \'icw of the A'illai;e and School of II 
the-UiU. ....... 



I'itus 



TACK 

;5;50 

330 

;i;u 

331 
33"' 
33-J 
33;5 
333 
331 



33ri 



L3l> 



338 
341 
341 
•M-1 
34-2 
343 
313 
314 
:!4 1 
34J 
34.') 
34) 
34(1 
34ti 
34t> 
347 



34H 

34;) 

34!) 

3rio 
3:)i 

352 



353 
SoS 
354 
i>5() 
35(5 



3-39 



CONTENTS. 



XIX 



L;uly, 



IIOURS or Tdlknkss. — Contimwd. 
To M 

To AVoiiinn, 

ToM. S. (;., .... 

To iSlarv 

Tol-csfna, .... 
Lines iiddrcsseil to a Youii 
Love's hist Allien, . 
Duniii'tiis, .... 

To Marion, 

To !i Liidy, 

Osciir of Alva, 

Tlie ]Ci)isoile of Nisus anil Enryalns, 
Translation from the Meilea of Knripiiles 
Thon^ihts sii;,^!4esteil by u College Exaniii 
To 11 Beautiful Quaker, .... 

'J lie Cornelian, 

An oeeasional I*rolof,Mic, 
On the Death of Mr. Fox, 

The Tear, 

Reply to some Verses, 
To the sij,diinj: Strephon, 

To Eliza 

Laehin y Cair, 

To Romanee, 

Answer to some ]''lej:ant Verses, . 

Elegy on Newsteail AMiey, 

C:liiMish UeeoUeelions, .... 

Answer to a l?iautifiil I'oi'm, . 

Lines aihlresseil to the Rev. J. T. Reeher 

The Death of {.'almar and Orla, 

To Edward Noel l^ong, Esq., 

To a Lady, 

I would r were a careless Child, . 

When I roved a young Highlander, 

To (icorge, Earl Delawarr, . 

To the Earl of ( :lare. 

Lines written beneath an Elm in theChu 
EyuiJsii ]Uki)s and Scotcu Rkvieweh.s. 

Postscript, 

TiiK Waltz. An apostrophic Hymn, . 
Poems on Napoleon : 

Ode to Napoleon, .... 

Odc! from the I'rench, .... 

To Napoleon, 

Napoleon's l-'arewell, .... 

On the Star of the Legion of Honor, 



chyard < 
A Satir 



PAOK 

360 
301 
301 
3G-2 
303 
304 
31.5 
30.-) 
3:;(i 
3(iT 
374 
33-2 
333 
3vt 
3Sfi 
380 
387 
3SS 
389 
3!)0 
391 
301 
3!)2 
394 
395 
308 
406 
407 
408 
411 
413 
414 
413 
416 
417 
•, 410 
421 
440 
4r)0 

4.")0 
. 402 

464 
. 405 

400 



XX 



CONTENTS. 



Poems to Thtkza : 

ToThyiza, 

Away, away, ye notes of woe. 

One struggle more, and I am free, • 

Euthanasia, ..... 

Aiicl thou art dead, as young as fan-. 

If sometimes in the haunts of men, 
Domestic Pieces: 

Fare thee well 

A Sketch, 

Stanzas to Augusta, . 

Stanzas to Augusta 

Epistle to Augusta, .... 

Lines on hearing that Lady Byron was ill 

Well ! thou art happy, .... 
The Vision of Judgment, . 
Miscellaneous Poems : 

Maid of Athens, ere wc part, . 

Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer, 

Bright be the place of th}* soul, 

Remind mc not, remind mc not, . 

There was a time, I need not name, 

And wilt thou weep, when I am low ? . 

On Parting, 

Thou art not false, but thou art fickle, . 

Eemember him, whom Passion's power 

Lines written beneath a Picture, . 

Stanzas for Music, .... 

The Chain I gave, .... 

Translation of a Romaic Song, 

Translation of a Romaic Love Song, 

From the Portuguese, 

To Cxenevra. Sonnets I. and II., 

To Lake Leman. Sonnet, 

Darkness, 

Churchill's Grave, .... 

To a Youthful Friend 

Inscription on the Monument of a Ncwfo 

To Time, 

Lines inscribed on a Cup formed from a SI 

Prometheus, 

Lines written in the Travellers' Book at Orchomenu 

Lines written in an Album, at Malta. 

Written after Swimming from Sestos to Aby 

Translation of a famous Greek War-Song, . 

The spell is broke, the charm is llown ! . 

Stanzas written on passing the Ambraeian Gulf, 



Hand Doi; 



ull, 



PAGB 

4G7 
4f)S 
4G5 
470 
471 
472 

474 

475 
477 
478 
479 
482 
483 
4S5 



508 
509 
509 
500 
510 
511 
511 
512 
512 
513 
514 
514 
514 
515 
51G 
517 
517 
51S 

r,io 

520 

522 



dos 



524 
525 
525 
525 
520 
n9T 



COXTEXTS. xxi 

MiSCELL.VNEors POEMS- — Continued. page 

To FloiviK-e 028 

Stanzas composed during a Thunder-storm, . . . 529 

On being- asked what was the " Origin of Love," . . 531 

Impromptu, in Reply to a Friend, 531 

To Sjamuel Rogers, Esq., 531 

Condohitorj- Address to Sarah, Countess of Jersey, . . 531 

Stanzas to a Lady ou leaving Englaud, .... 532 

The Farewell, 534 

"When wc two parted, 53i 

Lines to a Lady weeping, 535 

■\Vindsor Poetics 535 

Elegiac Stanzas ou the Death of Sir Peter Parker, Bart., . 535 

A Fragment, 53G 

Stanzas for Music, 537 

Fill the goblet again, 538 

Remember thee ! remember thee ! 538 

On a Cornelian Heart which was broken, . . . 53D 

Monody on the Death of the Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan, . 539 
Address, spoken at the Opening of Drury-Lane Theatre, 

Saturday, Octoher 10, 1812, . . " . . . .541 

On revisiting Harrow, 543 

The Adieu. "Written under the impression that the author 

Avould soon die, ........ 543 

Farewell to the Muse, 545 

To an Oak at Xewstcad 546 

Epistle to a Friend, in arswer to some lines exhorting the 

author to be cheerful, and to " banish care," . . 547 

Stanzas for Music, 548 

Address intended to have been recited at the Caledonian 

Meeting, 1814, 549 

To Bclshazzar, 550 

Stanzas for Music, 550 

CuiLDE Harold's Pilgrimage : 

Preface, 551 

To lanthe, 554 

Canto I., 555 

To Inez, 574 

Canto II., 577 

Canto III., 600 

Canto W., .... 626 

Extracts from Don Juan: 

The Lake Poets (from Dedication), 667 

Portrait of Julia, 668 

Juan's Love 608 

Sweet Things, 609 

Squandered Youth, . o 670 



XXii CONTENTS. 

KxTRACTS FROM DoN JuAN. — Continued. page 

Storm ami Shipwrcclc, 671 

An Eastern Picture, ........ GT') 

The I'oct's Song— The Isles of Greece, .... 677 

Twilight, . ' 679 

Death in Youth, 680 

Haidee's Dream (iSO 

Moorish Picture, 681 

Dante's Column 682 

Love 682 

Eastern Group, 683 

A Posture, CS4 

Love and Glory, 6S4 

Wars, . . " 684 

Wellington, 685 

Pj'rrlionism, 686 

England, 6iST 

Berkley, GS7 

Poetical Characters, . . . -— ^ .... G88 

A Sot, 689 

Moncv, C89 

The Fortune, 690 

Quixotism, 691 

Norman Abbey, 692 

The Suicide, ". 695 

Motives, 695 

Trnth, 696 

Vanitv, 696 

Adeline's Song— The Black Friar, . . . , . 697 



LIST OF ILIIISTRATIONS 



Engraved by George T. Andre-w. 



THE CASTLE OF CHILLON. 

F. B. ScHELL. Frontispiece. 

" ' O'er the glad waters of tlic dark-blue sea.' " 

F. ChILDE H ASSAM. 3 

•• L'p rose that Dervise — not in saintly garb, 
But like a warrior bounding on his barb." 

A. R. Waud. i8 

" ' Oh ! — no more — yet now my more than brother ! ' " 

H. Pkuett Share. 121 

" ' Bring forth the horse ! ' The horse was brought : 
In truth he was a noble steed." 

A. K. Waud. 299 

JKI'IITII.WS DAUGHTER. 

H. RiCHTER. 329 

THE MAID OF ATHENS. 

A. E. Chalon. SoSJ 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



AUTIST. PAGE. 

" HiMicntli tlicse battlements, within those walls, 
i'(.vvc'i tlwelt anudst her passions." 

H. C. SuLous. 6io 

" 1 stood in \'('iiicc, on the r)rid,i;c of Sighs ; 
A jialacc and a jnison on each hand." 

E. H. GARliUTT. 620 

JUAN'S LOVE. 

II. RicuTiiK. 66S 



THE CORSAIR. 



TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. 



"Mr nr.An Moorr: I dodioate to you the lust produotinn with which I slinll 
trfsi)ass oil puhUc patience, iiiid your iiidi'lKeiice, fur some years; and 1 own 
that I feel anxious to avail nijself of this latest and only oiiportnnity of adorninj,' 
my pai,'es with a name consecrated by unshaken piilHie principle, and the most 
undoubted and various talents. While Ireland ranks j-ou among tlie firmest of 
Iier patriots; while you stand alone the first of her bards In her estimation, and 
ISritaIn repeals and ratifies th<! decree, permit one whose only regret, since our 
first acQuaintanc(!, has been the years he had lost before It eonnnenced, to !»ild 
tlie humble but Bincere suffrase of friendship to the voice of more tlian one na- 
tion. It will at Ifiast prove to you that I have neither forgotten the gratification 
derived from your society, nor aljandoned the prospect of its renewal, whenever 
your leisure or Inclination allows you to alone to your friends for too long an 
absence. It Is said among tliose friends, I trust truly, that you are engaged in 
the composition of a poem whose scene will be laid In the East; none can do 
those scenes so much justice. The wrongs of your own country, the magnificent 
and fiery spirit of lier sons, the beauty and feeling of her daughters, may there 
be found; and Collins, when he der.ominatcd his Oriental his Irish Eclogues, was 
not aware how true, at least, was a part of his parallel. Your imagination will 
create a warmer sun, and less clouded sky; but wlldness, tenderness, and 
originality are part of your national claim of Oriental descent, to which you 
have already tlins far proved your title more clearly tlian the most zealous of 
your country's antiquarians. 

May I add a few words on a subject on which all men are supposed to be 
flnent and none agreeable? — Self. I have written much, and piiblislicd more 
than enough to <lcniand a longer silence than I now meditate; bul, for some years 
to come, it is my intention to tempt no further the award of " gods, men, nor 
columns." In the prcisent composition I have attempted not tlic most difilcult, 
but, perhaps, the t>est adapted measure to our language, the good old, and now 
neglected heroic couplet. The stanza of Spenser is perhaps too slow and dignified 
for narrative ; though, I confess, it is the measure most after my own heart. Seott 
alone, of the present generation, has hitherto completely triumphed over the 
fatal facility of the octo-syllabic verse; and this is not the least victory of his 
fertile and mighty gejiins. In lilaid; verse, Milton, Thomson, and our dramatisis, 
are the beacons that sliino along the dee|), but warn us from the rough mid 

1 



2 TUB CORSAIR. 

barren rock on wliicli they arc kindled. The lioroio couplet Is not the most 
l)opuUir measure, certainly; but as I did not deviate into tlio otiicr from a wish 
t(i tiatter wluit Is called public opinion, I shall quit it without I'urtlier apology, 
and take my chance once more with that versification In whicli I liave hitlierto 
putilislied notiiiiiK I'Ut compositions whose former circulation is l)arl of my pres- 
ent, ami will l)e of my future regret. 

■\Vitli regard to my story, and stories in general, I should have been glad to 
have rendered my personages more perl'ect and amial)le, if jiossibie, inasmuch 
as I have been sometUnes criticised, and considered no less responsiliie for tiieir 
deeds and qualities lliaii If all had been personal. 15e it so. If I have deviated 
Into the gloomy vanity of "drawing from self," the pictures are probably like, 
since tliey are unfavoralile; and if not, tliose wlio know me are inideeeived, 
and tliose who do nol, I liave Utile interest in undeceiving. I have no |iarliculiir 
desire that any but my aecinainlanee sliould think the autlior better tlian the 
beings of his imagining; l)ut I cannot help a little surprise, and perliaps amuse- 
ment, at some odd critical exceptions in tlie present instance, wlien I see several 
liards (far more deserving, I allow,) In very reputable plight, and quite exempted 
from ail participation in the faults of tliose heroes, wiio, nevertheless, niiglit be 
found witli little more morality tlian "The (iiaour." and perhaiis— but no— I 
must admit Ciiilde Harold to be a very repulsive personage; and as to his 
Identity, those who lik<^ it nnist give him wliatover alias they i)lease. 

If, however, it w^nv wortli while to rtMuove the impression, it might hoof some 
•ervice to me, tlial the man wlio is alike the deiiglit of his readers and his 
friends, the poet of .ill circles, and the idol of his own, permits me here and else- 
where to siiliscrilie myself, most truly and all'ectionately, his obedient servant, 

liYUON. 

Jatiuaiy '-', ISH. 




"O'er the t!;liid waters of the dark blue sea." 

The Corsair, page 3. 



THE CORSAIR. 



CANTO THE FIRST. 

" nessun maggior dolore, 

Che ricordiusi ilel tempo lelice 
KelJa miseria, ." — Dante. 



" O'er the glad waters of the dark-blue sea,* 
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free, 
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, 
Survey our empire, and behold our home ! 
These are our realms, no limits to their sway — 
Our flag the seeptre all who meet oliey. 
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range 
From toil to rest, and joy in every change. 
Oh, who can tell ? not thou, luxurious slave ! 
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave ; 
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease i 
Whom slumber soothes not — pleasure cannot please— 
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried, 
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide, 
The exidting sense — the pulse's maddening play, 
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way ? 
That for itself can woo the approaching fight, 
And turn what some deem danger to delight; 
That seeks wliat cravens shun with more than zeal. 
And where tiie feebler faint— can only feel — 
Feel — to the rising bosom's inmost core, 
Its hope awaken and its spirit soar ? 
No dread of death — -if with us die our foes — 
Save that it seems even duller than repose : 
Come when it will — we snatch the life of life — 
When lost — what recks it — ^bv disease or strife ? 
Let liiui who crawls enamor'd of decay. 
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away; 
Heave his tliick breath, and sliake his palsied head; 
Ours — the fresh turf, and not the feverish bed. " 
While gasp l)y gasp he falters forth his soul. 
Ours with one pang — one bountl — escapes control. 
His (;orpse may boast its urn and narrow cave. 
And tliey who loathed his life may gild his grave ; 

» The time in this poem may seoin too short for the occurrences, but the whole 
of the Tfiu'eaii isles are witliiii a tow h()ln•^i' sail ol" tlie CDiitineiU, unit llie reader 
must he liiiiU eiiuugli tu tulic tlie wind as 1 have often found it. 

3 



THE CORSAIB. [ia:." 

Ours are the tears, thonuli few, siuceroly shed, 
Wheu Ocean shrouds autl sepulchres our dead. 
For us, even banquets fouil rep'et sui)ply 
In the red cup that crowns our uieiuory ; 
And the hriet' epitaph in thinner's day, 
\Vhen those who win at lonuth divide the prey, 
Aud cry, llenicnibrauce saiidcninu- o'er each brow, 
How had the brave who fell exulted now ! " 



Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle. 

Around the kindling- watch-fire ransy the while ; 

Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along, 

And unto ears as rugired seeni'd a song ! 

In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand, 

They ga:uc — carouse — converse — or whet the brand; 

Select the arms — to each his blade assign. 

And careless eye the blood that dims its shine ; 

Eepair tlie boat, replace the helm or oar, 

"While others straggling nuisc along the shore ; 

For the wild bird the busy springes set, 

Or spread liencath the sun the dripping net; 

Gaze where some distant sail a speck supplies, ,^- 

With all the thirsting eye of Enterprise; 

Tell o'er the tales of many a night of toil. 

And marvel where they next shall seize a spoil: 

No matter where — their chief's allotment this; 

Theirs, to believe no prey nor plan amiss. 

But who that Chief ? his name on every shore 

Is famed and fear'd — they ask and know no more. 

"With these he mingles not but to command; 

Few are his words, but keen his eye and hand. 

Ne'er seasons he with mirth their jovial mess. 

But they forgive his silence for success. 

Ne'er for his lip the purpling cup they fill, 

That goblet ]wsscs him uutasted still — 

Aud for his fare — the rudest of his crew 

Woidd that, in turn, have pass'd uutasted too ; 

Earth's coarsest bread, the garden's homeliest roots, 

And scarce the summer luxury of fruits, 

His short repast in humbleness supply 

AVith all a hermit's board would scarce deny. 

But while he shuns the grosser joj's of sense, 

His mind seems nourish'd by that abstinence. 

*' Steer to that shore ! " — they sail. " Do this ! " — 'tis done i 

"Now form and follow me ! " — the spoil is won. 

Thus prompt his accents and his actions still, 

Aud all obey and few inipiire his will; 

To such, lirief answer and contemptuous eye 

Convey reproof, nor further deign reply. 



" A sail ! — a sail ! " — a promised prize to Hope ! 
Her nation — liag — how ^peaks the telescope ? 



CANTO I.] THE CORSAIR. 

No prize, alas '. — but yet a welcome sail : 

The blood-rod signarijlitters in the gale. 

Ycs^ — she is ours— a hoiue-retiiruing bark — 

Blow fair, thou breeze!— she anchoi-s ere the dark. 

Already doubled is the cape — our bay 

Receives that prow which proudly spurns the spray. 

How gloriously her gallant course she tcoes ! 

Iler white wings Hying — never from her foes — 

She walks the waters like a thing of life. 

And seems to dare the elements to strife. 

A\'iio would not l)rave the l)attle-fire — the wreck — 

To move the monarch of her peopled deck ? 



Hoarse o'er her side the rustling cable rings ; 

The sails arc furl'd ; and anchoring, round she swin^ 

And gathering loiterers on the land discern 

Her boat descending from the latticed stern. 

'Tis manu'd — the oars keep concert to the strand 

Till grates her keel upon the shallow sand. 

Hail to the welcome shout! — the friendly speech! 

When lumd grasps hand uniting on the beach ; 

The smile, the question, and the quick I'eply, 

And the heart's promise of festivity ! 



The tidings spread, and gathering gi-ows the crov/d : 

The hum of voices, and the laughter loud, 

And woman's gentler anxious tone is heard — 

Friends' — husbands' — lovers' names in each dear word; 

" Oh ! are they safe ? v;c aslv not of success — 

But shall we see them ? will their accents bless ? 

From where the liattlc roars — the billows chafe — 

They doubtless boldly did — but who are safe ? 

Here let them haste to gladden and surprise, 

And kiss the doubt from these delighted eyes ! " 



"Where is our chief? for him we bear report — 
And doubt that joy — which hails our coming — short; 
Yet thus sincere — 'tis cheering, though so brief; 
But, .Juan ! instant guide us to our chief: 
Our greeting paid, we'll feast on our return. 
And all shall hear what each may wish to learn." 
Ascending slowly by the rock-hewn way. 
To where his watch-tower beetles o'er the bay, 
By Inishy brake, and wild flowers blossoming. 
And freshness lircathing from each silver spring. 
Whose scatter'd streams from granite l)asins burst, 
Leap into life, and sparkling woo your thirst ; 
From crag to cliti' they mount. — Xcar yonder cave, 
What lonely straggler looks along the wave ? 
In pensive posture leaning on the brand. 
Not oft a rcsting-stalf to that red hand ? 
" 'Tis he — 'tis L'onrad — here — as wont— alone ; 



77//; coits \ni. [('ANToi. 

( ):i — .1 11(111 ! — (111 Mini iiKikf iiiir iiiirposc known. 
'Jill' liiU'lv !u' \ii'\vs- iiiid li'll him we wduIiI ;;ri'i-t 
His I'lir willi ti(liiiv,s lie iiiiisl (|iiickl_v mutI ; 
Wi- (lure nut. yet ii|i|iniacli — liuni kiinw'sl liis mood, 
M'lu'ii sti'Mii^^f or iiuiii\ iU'd sli'ps iiilni(k'." 



llim .liiim soii^iil, iiiul tolil of tlioir intent.; — 

111" sjiiiki' not — liiit 11 sij;n cxjiri'^s'il iissi'iit. 

1'lii'si' .Imin culls — tlii'v come— to llicii- suliito 

lie ln'nds llim sli^iiiiy", Imt his lips lire mute. 

"These IcItiTs, ( liiei", lire I'rom the (Jrei'k — the si)v, 

M'ho slill |iroi'luims oiii' spoil or jierii iii;;h : 

AVIiiile'ei- liis liilinus, we cim >vell reporl 

]S1 iieh ihal "— " IViiee, pence ! "—lie eiils their prating- short 

M oiHlei-iii^- they turn, nhashM, wiiile each to each 

('oiiji'etiire \vhis))ers in his nmlterinj;' speech : 

Tiiev watch his ;ilance with many a stealiiiL;- look, 

To f^iithei- how thai eye the titliujis took ; 

IJiit, this as it" he fi'iicssM, with liead aside, 

I'l'i-chancc iVoiii some eniotioii, doulit, or pride, 

He read the scroll—" My tahlels, diian, hark— 

"Where is (ionsalvo?" ~" 

" In the iinchorM hark." 
"There let him stay — to him this order hear. 
Back to your duty — for my course prepare: 
IMyself this enterprise to-nii^ht w ill share." 
"Tu-ni;;'ht, l.or<l ( 'omad • " 

" A\ ! at set of sun: 
The hreezo will iVi'sheii when the diiy is diuic. 
!My corselet — eloak^ — one hour — and we are gone. 
Sliii^' on thy huglt^ — see that free from rust 
I\ly carhiiie-lock sprin;;s worthy of my trust ; 
]»c the edyi' sharpcii'il of my hoanliiij^-lirand, 
And ^ive its j^iiard more room to lit my hand. 
This let the Armorer with speed dispose; 
].ast time, it more fati;iued niv arm than foes: 
Murk that the sii;iial--un lie duly tired, 
To tell us when the hour of sla\ 's e\uired." 



'I'hey make olicisaiiee, and retire in haste, 
'I'oo soon to seek a,i;aiii the watery waste : 
Yet they repine not — so thai Conrad guides. 
And who dare iiuestion iiiiuhl Ihal he decides? 
'i'hal man of loneliness and mystery, 
tSearee setMi lo smile, and seldom heard to sijih ; 
A\'hose name appalls the fiercest of his crew. 
And tints each swarthy cheek with sallower hue; 
Still sways their miuIs with that comma iidiny art 
That da//.li>s, leads, yet chills the vulpir heiil't. 
^\\l•M is that spell, tiial thus his lawless train 
Confess and envy, yet oppose in vain ? 
"What should it he, "that thus their faith can hind ? 
The power of Thmiyht— the mugie of the iMiudl 



CANTO I.] THE rOftSAIR. 

Liiik'il uilli success, jissmiicd ;iiiil kt-pt willi skill, 
That moiilcU UMotlier's wi'ukiirss lo its will; 
^V'iclds willi llicir hands, but, still to thusu imkiiowil, 
Makes rvoii their iiii^luiesl deeds appear iiis own. 
(^iieh hath il heeii — shall i)e — heiiealh the sun : 
The many still must labor I'or the one ! 
'Tis Nulnre's doom — but lei the wretch who toils. 
Accuse not, hate not kim who wears the spoils. 
Oh! if he knew the wei^iht of splendid (diains, 
How light the i>alanee ol' his humbler pains! 

IX. 

Unlike the lici-nns of each ancioiit i-aco, 

Demons in act, but '■•ods at least in face, 

In Conrad's form seems little to admire, 

'J'lion;^h his dark eyebrow shades a ;iia,nce of lire: 

liobiist but not herc-ulean — to tlu! sight 

No giant frame sets forth his common height; 

Yet, ill the whole, who pansetl to look again, 

Saw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men; 

They gay.i; and marvel how — and still confess 

That thus it is, but why, they ca,nu()t guess. 

8un-bnrnt his cheek, hi-, forehead high and pale 

The sal)lo curls in wild profusion veil; 

And oft perforce his rising lip rcvt;als 

The haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals. 

Though smooth his voi(;e, and calm his general mien, 

Still seems tlu're something he W()uld not have seen; 

His features' dee|)ening lines anil varying hue 

At times attracted, yet perplex'd the view. 

As if within that murkiness of mind 

Work'd feelings learful, and yet undefined; 

Such miglit it be— that none could tiMily tell — 

Too cl(jse iii(|uiry his stern glance would (|uell. 

There breathe but few whoso asfxict might defy 

The full encounter of his searching e_ye ; 

lie had the skill, when Cunning's gaze would seek 

To iiroln: his heart and watch his changing cheek. 

At once the oliserver's pui'pose to espy, 

And on himself roll back his s<!rutiny, 

Jjcst he to ( 'onrail rather should betray 

Some secret thought, than drag that chief's to day. 

There was a laughing devil in his sneer. 

That raised emotions both of rage and fear; 

And where his frown of hatn-d darkly fell, 

Hope withering lied — and Mercy sigh'd farewell ! 

X. 

Slight arc the outward signs of evil thouglit. 

Within— within — 'twas tljcrc the spirit wrought ! 

l^ove shows all changes — Hate, Ainbiti(Mi, (iuilc, 

lietray no further than the bitter smile; 

The lip's least curl, the lightest paleness thrown 

Along the govcrn'd aspect, spi'ak alone 

Of deeper ))assions ; anil lo judge their inicn, 

He, who would see, must, be himself uuseeu. 



THE CORSAIR. [canto i. 

Then— with the huirioJ troiul, the mnvanl o\-e, 
Till- i'Kmu'Iu'iI lunul, till' iKiiHO of auoiiy. 
That listens, staitiiiy, lost tho stop too uoar 
Appi'oaoh intnisivo on that mood ot' loar : 
Then— witli each loatiiro woiUing from tho heart, 
"With foolinus loosod to stroniithou— not lUpart: 
That lisi — oonviilso— oontoml— that fivo/.o, or ylow, 
Fhi>h in tho ohook, or ilamp upon tho l>ro\v ; 
Thou — Stranuor! if thou oanst, and iromhlost not, 
liohold liis sold — tho rost that soothes his lot ! 
^lark — how that lono and hli^'htod bosom soars 
Tho soathiuL;- thoii^hi of ovooratcd years! 
IJeholil— hut who hath soon, or e'er shall see, 
Man as himsolf— tho seorot spirit free ? 



Yet wa-; not Conmd thus by Nature sent 

To load the jruilty-->:nilt's" worst instrument— 

His soul was ohaiiired, hoforo his deeds had driven 

llim forth to war with man and forfeit hoavon. 

AVarp'd liy tho world in Oisappointniont's sehool, 

In wonls too wise, in oonduet .'//(>)•;• a fool; 

Too tirm to yield, and far loo proud to stoop, 

Doom'd hv his very virtues for a dupe, ■ — 

He oursoii those virtues as tlie oauso of ill. 

And not tlio traitors who hotray'd him still; 

Xor doem'd that j;ifts hestowM" on better men 

Had loft him joy, and moans to t;ivo auaiu. 

PearM — shunu'd— belied— ore youth had lost her foiTO, 

He hated man too niueh to feoi remorse. 

And thought the voiee of wrath a snored oull, 

To pay tho injuries of some on all. 

He kiiow himself a villain- but he doem'd 

The rost no bettor than the thiun' ho soemM; 

And soorn'd the host as hypoerites who hid 

Those deeds tho bolder spirit ]ilniuly di>l. 

He knew himself ilotosted, but he knew 

The hearts that loathed him, eixjuoliM and dreaded too. 

Iaiuo, wild, and stranire, ho stood alike exempt 

From all atfeotion and from all eoiitenipt : 

His name eould sadilon. and his nets surprise: 

But they that foar'd him daretl not to despise. 

Man spurns tho worm, but pauses ere he wake 

The slumborinjr venom of the fohled snake : 

The tirst may turn— but not aveuire the blow; 

The last expires — but leaves no living: foe; 

Fast to the doom'd otVoudor's form it elinirs. 

And he may erush — not oonqnor — still it stings! 



Kone arc all evil — quiekenins' round his heart, 
One solder feelin-r woidd not yet depart ; 
Oft eould he sneer at others, as boLrniled 
By passions worthy of a fool or ohild; 
Yet 'p*i"*t that passion vainly still he strove, 
And even in him it asks the name of Love! 



TANTO 1.] TUB CORSAIR. 

V(,s, il was love— unchanjreal'lc — iinchari'Tcd, 

Tijlt but for one IVoiii whom he never raii^^ecl ; 

Thoii^fh f'iiirest caijlives daily met his eye, 

He shuiiiiM, nor soii^lit, hut eoklly passM thern by; 

Thou;.'-li niaiiv a beauty ihoop'il in prisonM hower, 

None'ever soothed his nio^t unguarded hour. 

Yes— it was ]>ove— if thoughts of tenderness, 

Tried in temptation, strengthen'd l»y distress, 

"Unmoved by absence, iu-in in every elime. 

And vet— oil more than all !— untired iiy time ; 

Wiiieh nor deieated hope, nor battleil wile. 

Could render sullen were she near to smde. 

Nor rage could lire, nor siekness fret to vent 

On her one munnur of his diseontent; 

WhiJi still wr)uhl meet with joy, with calmness part, 

T.cst tliat his look of grief should reach her heart; 

Which nauglit removed, nor menaced to remove— 

Xi there be love in mortals— this was love! 

lie was a villain— ay— rei)roaches shower 

On liim— but not till; pas^i(ni, nor its power, 

Which onlv proved, all other virtues gone, 

Not gUill itself could quench this loveliest one! 



lie pai.ricd a moment— till his hastening men 

Tass'd the first winding downward to the glen. 

" Strange tidings!— many a peril have I past. 

Nor know 1 whv tliis next appears the last! 

Yet so niv heart foreJKxles, i)ut must not fear, 

Nor shall' my followers find me falter here. 

'Tis rash to meet, but sui'er death to wait 

Till here »hcv liuiil us to undoul>ted fate; 

And, if iiiv plan but iiolil, and Fortune smile, 

We'll furnish mourners for our funeral-pile. 

^y_let them slumber— peaceful be their dreams! 

Morn ne'er awoke llicm with such ijrilliant beams 

As kiu<lle high to-night (l)ut blow, thou breeze!) 

To warm these slow avengers of the seas. 

Now to Medora— Oh ! my sinking lieart, 

Ivong may her own be lighter than thou art ! 

Yet was I brave- mean boast whei-e all are brave! 

Even inseets sting for aught they seek to save. 

This common courage which with brutes we share, 

That owes its deadliest efi'orts to despair, 

Small merit claims— but 'twas my nobler hope 

To teach my few with numbers still to cope; 

Long have 1 led them— not to vainly bleed : 

No medium now— we perish or succeed! 

Bo let it be— it irks not me to die ; 

IJut thus to urge them whence they cannot fly. 

Mv lot hatii long had little of mv care. 

Hut chafes my pride thus baffled in the snare: 

Is this my skill ? my craft ? to set at last 

Hope, power, and life upon a sinyle cast ? 



10 THE COnSATH. [caj^to i. 

Oh, Fate ; — accuse thy folly, not thy fate— 
She may redeem thee still — nor yet too iatc." 

XIV. 

Thus with himself communion held he, till 
lie rcacli'd the summit of his towcr-crown'd hill ; 
There at the portal paused — for wild and soft 
He heard those accents never heard too oft; 
Throuji'h the lui^h lattice far yet sweet they runp:, 
And these the notes his bird of beauty suny ; — 

1. 

"Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells. 
Lonely and lost to lij^ht for evermore. 
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, 
Tlieu trembles into silence as before. 

2. 
" There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp, 

Burns the slow flame, eternal — but unseen ; 
Which not the darkness of despair can damp, 
Though vain its ray as it had never been. 

3. -:- 

" Remember me — Oh ! pass not thou my gvovr 

Without one thoujuht whose relics thei't, risOlratj -. 
The only pang my bosom ilare not brave 
Must l)e to iind forgctfulness in thine. 

4. 

" My fondest — faintest — latest accents her.r : 
Grief for tlie dead not Vi'tuo car, reprove; 
Then give me all I ever askM — u tjav, 

The first — last — sole reward of so much love ! " 

He pass'd the portal — cross'd the corridor. 

And reach'd the chamber as the strain gave o'er : 

"My own Medora! sure thy song is sad — " 

" In Conrad's absence wouldst thou have it glad ? 

Without thine ear tc listen to my lay, 

Still must my song mj' thoughts, my soul betray : 

Still must each accent to my bosom suit, 

My heart unhush'd — altliough my lips were mute ! 

Oh ! many a night, on this lone couch reclined, 

My dreaming fear with storuis hath wing'd the wind, 

Aud decm'd the brcatli that faintly fann'd thy sail 

The murmuring prelude of the ruder gale; 

Though soft, it seem'd the low prophetic dirge. 

That mourn'd thee floating on the savage surge: 

Still would I rise to rouse the beacon-fire. 

Lest spies less true should let the blaze expire : 

And many a restless liour outwatch'd each star, 

And morning came — and still tliou wert afar. 

Oh ! how the chill blast on my bosom blew, 

And day broke dreary on my troubled view, 

And still I gazed and gazed — and not a prow 

Was granted to my tears — my truth — uiy vow ! 



CANTO I.] THE CORSAIR. 11 

At leiiLTlh — 'twas noon — I liail'd and l)lcst the mast 
That luut my si^dit — it ncav'd — Alas ! it pass'd ! 
Another came — O God ! 'twas thine at hist ! 
WouUl that those days were over! wilt thou ne'er, 
Mj' Conrad ! learn tiic joys of peace to share ? 
Sure thou hast more thaii wealth, and many a home 
A.S hrijrlit as this invites us not to roam : 
Thou know'st it is not peril that I Tear, 
I only tremble when thou art not here ; 
Then not for mine, but that far dearer life, 
Which ilies from love and languishes for strife — 
How strange that heart, to me so tender still. 
Should war with nature and its better will ! " 

" Yea, strange indeed — that heart hath long been changes '■ 

Worra-lilve 'twas trampled — atldcr-like avenged, 

Without one hope ou earth beyond thy love. 

And scarce a glimpse of mercy from above. 

Yet the same feeling which thou dost condemn. 

My very love to thee is hate to them. 

So closely mingling here, that discntwined, 

I cease to love thee when I love mankind : 

Yet dread not tins — the proof of all the past 

Assures the future that my love will last; 

But — O Medora ! nei-vo thy gentler heart, 

This hour again — but not for long — we part." 

" This hour we part ! — my heai-t foreboded this ! 

Thus ever fade my fairy dreams of bliss. 

This hour — it cannot be — this hour away ! 

Yon l)ark hath hardly anchor'd in the bay : 

Her consort still is absent, and her crew 

Have need of rest before they toil anew : 

My love ! thou mock'st my weakness ; and wouldst steel 

My breast before the time when it must feel ; 

But trille now no more with my distress, 

Such mirth hath less of play than bitterness. 

Be silent, Conrad ! — dearest ! come and share 

The feast these hands delighted to prepare ; 

Light toil ! to cull and dress thy frugal fare ! 

See, I have pluck'd the fruit that promised best. 

And where not sure, perplc.v'd, but jjlcased, I guess'd 

At such as seeni'd the fairest : thrice the hill 

My steps have wound to try the coolest rill ; 

Yes ! thy sherbet to-night will sweetly How, 

See how it sparkles in its vase of snow ! 

The grapes' gay juice thy bosom never cheers; 

Thou more than Moslem' when the cup appears : 

Think not I mc;ui to chide — for I rejoice 

What others deem a penance is thy choice. 

But come, the board is spread ; our silver lamp 

Is trinnu'd, and heeds not the Sirocco's damp. 

Then shall ray handmaids while the time along, 

And join with me tlie dance, or wake the song; 

Or my guitar, which still thou lov'st to hear. 

Shall soothe or lull — or, shoukl it vex thine ear, 



12 THE CORSAIR. [canto i. 

M'i''ll tiini tlu' t;ik', hy Arioslo toW, 

t)r I'iiir Olvmpia lovcil ami left ol' old.* 

AMiy — tlioii wi'rt worse Ihiin ho who broke his vow 

To tiiat lost damsel, shoiildst lliou leave mo now; 

Or even that traitor chiel' — I've seen thee smile, 

A\'hen the clear sky show'd Ariadne's Isle, 

"\Vhieh 1 have pointed from these elitl's the -while : 

Antl thns, half sportive, half in fear, I said. 

Lest Time shoidd raise that doubt to more than dread, 

Thus Conrad, too, will quit me for the main : 

And he ilcceivcd mc — for — he came again ! " 

" Aji'ain — a^ain — and oft a>rain — my love ! 

If there be life below, and hope above, 

lie will return — but now the moments brincT 

The time of jiartini;' with redoubled winv^' : 

The why — the wliere— what boots it now to tell ? 

yinee all must end in that wild woi'd- — farewell! 

Yet would 1 fain — did time allow — disclose — 

Fear not^thi'se are no formidable foes; 

And here shall watch a more than wonted p'uard. 

For sudden siejze and loni;' defence preparctl : 

Nor be thou lonely — lhoui;h thv lortPs away, 

Our matrons and thy handmaids with thee stay; 

And this thy comfort — that when next we meet, 

Security shall make repose more .sweet. 

List !— tis the bug'le " — Juan shrilly blew — 

" Ouc kiss — one more — auothei- — Oh ! Adieu ! " 

She rose — she sprun<; — she clun<j to his embrace, 
Till his heart heaveil beneath her hidden face, 
lie dared not rais(? to his that derp-blue eye, 
A\'hieh downiast droopVl in teai'less au'ony. 
Her lorn;' fair hair lay lloatinj;' o'er his arms, 
In all the wildness oi' disheveU'd charms; 
Scarce beat that bosom wliere his imane dwelt 
So full— //(.(// feelini;- scem'd almost unfelt! 
Hark — peals the thunder of the si-iiial-ji'iiu ! 
It told 'twas sunset — and he eiu'seil that sun. 
Aji'ain — aj;'ain — that form he madly press'd 
"Which mutely clasp'tl, implorinj;ly earess'd ! 
And totterinu' to the couch his bride he bore, 
One moment j;azetl— as if to jrazc no more; 
Felt — that for him earth held but her aloue, 
Kiss'd her cokl forehead — turu'd — is Conrad ffone ? 



" Ai:d is he jione ?" — on sudden solitude 

How oft that fearful question will intruile ! 

" 'Twas but an instant past — and here he stood! 

And niiw " — without the portal's porch she rush'd, 

And then at Icnutii her tears in freedom j;ush'd ; 

Biji' — bri^^ht — and fast, unknown to her tliey fell; 

lUit still her lips refused to send — " Farewell! " 

* " Orlimiio Furioso," Canto 10. 



'CANTO I.] THE CORSAIR. 13 

For ill that woi-d — that fatal word— howc'cr 

Wo ])roniisc — hope — bflicvc — there breathes despair. 

O'er every feature of that still, pale face, 

Had sorrow lix'd wliat time eau ne'er erase; 

The tender blue of that lar^i'e loviiiy eye 

(irew frozen with its naze on vacancy. 

Till — oil, how far! — it eatiLi'lit a j;liiiipso of him. 

And llii'ii it llow'd— and frenzied si'em'd to swim, 

Tliroii;i'h those lou;^, dark, autl glistening- lashes clewed 

^\'ith drops of sadness oft to he rcncw'd. 

" lie's gone ! " — against her heart that hand is driven, 

Convulsed and quick^then gently raised to heaven; 

t^lie look'd and saw the lieaving of the main; 

The white sail set — she dared not look again; 

But turn'd witli bickening soul within the gate — 

"It is no dream — and I am desolate ! " 

XVI. 

From crag to crag descending— swiftly sped 

.Stern ( iini'ad down, nor once he turn'd his head; 

IJut sliruiik whene'er the windings <if ins way 

I'oreed on his eye what he wouUl not survey, 

His lone, liut lovely dwelling on the steep, 

That hail'd him first when liomoward from the deep: 

Anil slie — the dim and melancholy star, 

"Whose ray of beauty rcach'd him from afar. 

On her he must not gaze, he must not think. 

There he might rest — but on Destruction's brink; 

Yet once almost he stopp'd — and nearly gave 

His fate to chance, his projects to the wave ; 

But no — it must not be— a worthy chief 

May melt, but not betray to won'ian's grief. 

He sees his bark, he notes how fair the wind, 

And sternly gathers all his might of mind : 

Again he hurries on — and as he hears 

Tlie clang of tumult vibrate on his ears, 

The l)usy sounds, the bustle of the shore. 

The shout, the signal, and the dashing oar; 

As marks his eye the sea-boy on the mast. 

The anchors rise, the sails unfurling fast, 

The waving kerchiefs of the crowd that nrgc 

That mute adieu to those who stem the surge; 

Antl more than all, liis blood-red tlag aloft, 

He marvcll'd Ikjw his heart could seem so soft. 

Fire in his glance, and wildness in liis breast, 

He feels of all his former self possest ; 

He bounds — he Hies — until his locitsteps reach 

The verge where ends the cHtf, begins the beach, 

There checks liis speed ; but jjauses less to breathe 

The breezy freshness of the deep beneath. 

Than there his wonted statelier step renew ; 

Kor rush, disturb'd by haste, to vulgar view: 

For well had Conrad learn'd to curb' the crowd, 

By arts that veil, and oft preserve the proud; 

His was the lofty port, the distant mien, 

Tliat scema to slum the sight — and awes if scon: 



14 THE CORSAIR. [canto i. 

Tl'c solemn aspect, and the lii<rli-boi-n eye, 
That checks low mirth, but lacks not courtesy ; 
All these he wielded to command assent: 
But where he wish'd to win, so well unbent. 
That kindness cancell'd fear in those who heard, 
And others' j^'it'ts show'd mean beside his word, 
When echo'd to the heart as from his own, 
His deep yet tender melody of tone : 
But such was foreiji'n to his wonted mood, 
He cared not what he soften'd but subdued ; 
The evil passions of his youth had made > 

Him value less who loved — than what obey'd. 



Around him musterintj ranged his ready guard. 
Before him Juan stands — " Are all prepared ? " 

" They are — nay, more — embark'd : the latest boat 
Waits but my chief — " 

" My sword, and my capote.'' 
Soon firmly girded on and lightly slung. 
His belt and cloak were o'er his shoTildcrs tlung : 
" Call Pedro here ! " — He comes — and Conrad bends. 
With all the courtesy he deign'd his friends ; 
" Receive these tablets, and peruse with care. 
Words of high trust and truth are graven tlicrc ; 
Double the guard, and when Anselmo's bark 
Arrives, let him alike these orders mark : 
In three days (serve the breeze) the sim shall shine 
On our return — till then all peace be thine ! " 
This said, his brother Pirate's hand he wrung. 
Then to his boat with haughty gesture sprung. 
Flash'd the dipt oars, and sparkling with the stroke. 
Around the waves' phosphoric* briuhtness broke; 
They gain the vessel — on the deck he stands. 
Shrieks the shrill whistle — ply the busy hands — 
He marks how well the ship her helm obeys, 
How gallant all her crew — and deigns to praise. 
His eyes of pride to young Gonsalvo turn — 
Why doth he start, and inly seem to mourn ? 
Alas ! those eyes behold his roclcy tower, 
And live a moment o'er the parting hour; 
She — his ^ledora — did she mark the prow ? 
Ah! never loved he half so m.ueh as now! 
But much must yet l^e done ere dawn of day — 
Again he mans himself and tui'ns away; 
Down to the cabin with Gonsalvo bends. 
And there unfolds his plan — his means — and ends : 
Before them !:)urns the lamp, and spreads the chart, 
And all that s])eaks and aids the naval art; 
They to the midnight watch protract debate; 
To anxious eyes what hour is ever late ? 

* By night, particularly in a warm latiturlo, every stroke of tlie oar, every mo- 
tion of the boat or ship, is followed by a sliglit flash like sheet-lightning Iro'm th« 
water. 



CA2iT0 II.] THE CORSAIR. 15 

Jlcantinie, the steady hrecze serenely blew, 
And I'jist and t'alcon-iike the vessel tlew ; 
I'ass'd tlic lugli headlands of each clustering isle, 
To fjain their port — long — long ere morning smile: 
And soon the night-glass through the narrow bay 
Discovers where the Pacha's galleys lay. 
Count they each sail— and mark how there supine 
The lights in vain o'er heedless Moslem shine. 
Secure, unnoted, C'onrad's prow pass'd l\v. 
And anchor'd where his ambush meant to lie; 
Scrcon'd iVoni espial by the jutting cape. 
That rears on high its rude fantastic shape. 
Then rose his band to d>ity — not from sleep — 
Equipji'd for deeds alike o"n land or deep; 
While leau'd tlieir leader o'er the fretting tlood, 
And calmly talk'd — and yet he talk'd of blood! 



CANTO THE SECOXD. 

'Conosceste 1 Jubiosi desiri?" — Dante. 



In Coron's bay floats many a galley light, 
Through Coron's lattices the lamj^s are bright, 
For Seyd, the Pachji, makes a feast to-night ; 
A feast for promised triumph yet to come. 
When he sliall drag the fctter'd Rovers home; 
This hath he sworn by Alia and his sword, 
And faithful to his firman and his word. 
His summon'd prows collect along the coast, 
And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast? 
Already shared the captives and the prize, 
Though far the distant foe they thus despise ; 
'Tis but to sail — no doubt to-morrow's sun 
Will sec the Pirates bound — their haven won ! 
Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will, 
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill. 
Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek 
To flesh theii glowing valor on the Greek ; 
How well sucli deed liecomes the turban'd brave 
To bare the sabre's edge before a slave ! 
Infest his dwelling — but forbear to slay. 
Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day, 
And do not deign to smite because the}' may ! 
Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow, 
To keep in practice for the coming foe. 
Eevel and rout the evening hours beguile. 
And they who wish to wear a head must smile ; 
For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer, 
And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear. 



High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyd ; 
Around — the beai-dcd chiefs he came to lead. 



10 THE CORSAIR. [canto ir. 

Removed the banquet, and the last pihxtf — 
Forbidilcn draughts, 'tis said, he dared to qnafiF, 
Though to the rest the sober berry's juice,* 
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use ; 
The long Chibouquesf dissolving cloud supply, 
While dance the Almas j to wikl minstrelsy. 
The rising morn will view the chiefs embark; 
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark; 
And revellers may more securely sleep 
On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep, 
Feast there who can — nor comlxit till they must, 
And less to conquest than to Korans trust ; 
And yet the numbers crowded in his host 
Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast. 



With cautious reverence from the outer gate. 
Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait, 
Bows his bent head — his hand salutes the floor. 
Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore : 
"A captive Dervise, from the Pirates' nest 
Escaped, is here — himself woidd-tcll the rest." § 
He took the sign from Scyd's assenting eye. 
And led the holy man in silence nigh. 
His arms were folded on his dark-green vest, 
His step was feeble, and his look depi-est; 
Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than years. 
And pale his check with penance, not from fears. 
Vow'd to his (iod — his sable locks he wore. 
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er; 
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown, 
And wrapt a breast bestow'd on Heaven alone ; 
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann'd. 
He calmly met the curious eyes that scaun'd; 

* Coffee. t Pipe. J Dancing-Kirls. 

§ It has been objected that Conrad's entering disguised as a spy is out of na- 
ture: — perhaps so. I And something not unlike it in history. 

" Anxious to explore with liis own eyes the state of the Vandals, Majorian ven- 
tured, after disguising the color of his hair, to visit Carthage in the character of 
his own ambassador; and (ienseric was afterwards mortified bj- the discovery 
tliat he had entertained and dismissed tlic Emperor of tlie Romans. .Such ail 
anecdote may be rejected as an iuipri.balile tlctidii ; liut it is a Action which would 
not have been imagined unless in the life of a liero." — Gibbon, Decline and Fall, 
vol. vi. p. ISO. 

That Conrad is a character not altogether out of nature, t shall attempt to prove 
by some historical coincidences which 1 have met with since writing "Tlie Corsair." 

'■ Eccelin prisonnier," dit Kolandini, " senfermoit dans un silence mena(;ant, il 
flxoit sur la terre son visage feroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor a sa profonde in- 
dignation. — De toutes parts cependant les soldats et les peuples accouroient; ils 
vouloient voir cet lioniuir. jadis si puissant, et la joieuniverselle eclatoit de toutes 
parts. . . . Eccelin cluit iliinc petite taillc; mais tout I'aspect de sa persoinie, 
tons ses mouvemens. indiiiiioa'Ut un soldat. — Son langage etoit amer, son d6- 
portement superbe— rt par sdh scul egard, il faisoit trembler les plus hardis." — 
aismoiiili. tome ill. pp. '.'PI, '''iO. 

'■(iiztrirus ((Jenscric. i^iiig of the Vandals, the conqueror of both Carthage 
and llome) staturu mcdiocris, et equi casu daudicans, animo profundus, ser- 
mone rarus. lu.xuriaj contemptor, ira turbidus. Iiabendi cupidus, ad solicitaudas 
gentes providentissimus," etc., etc. — Jornnndes de Rebus Geticis, c. 33. 

I beg leave to quote these gloomy i-eulities to keep in countenance my Giaour 
md Oorsair. 



CANTO II.] THE CORSAIR. 17 

And question of his comintr fain would seek, 
Before the Pacha's will allow'il to speak. 



" Whence com'st thou, Dervise ? " 

" From tlie outlaws' den 
A fugitive — " 

" Thy capture where aud when ? " 
" From Scalanovo's port to Scio's isle, 
The !Saiek was l)oun<l ; but Alia did not smile 
I'pon our course — the Moslem merchant's gains 
The Hovers won : our limbs have worn their chains. 
I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast. 
Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost; 
At'length a fisher's humble boat by night 
Alforded hope, aud otFer'd chance of iiight: 
I seized the hour, and find my safety here — 
With thee — most mighty Pacha ! who can fear ? " 

" IIow speed the outlaws ? stand they well prepared 
Their plunder'd wealth, and robbers' rock, to guard ? 
Dream the^' of this our preparation, doom'd 
To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed 1 " 

"Pacha! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye, 

Tliat weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy ; 

I only heard the reckless waters roar, 

Tliosc waves tiiat would not bear me from the shore ; 

I only mark'd the glorious sun aud sky, 

Too bright — too l)lue — for my captivity; 

And felt— tliat all which Freedom's bosora cheers, 

Must break my chain before it dried my tears. 

This may'st thou juilge, at least, from my escape. 

They little deem of auglit in jieril's shape; 

Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance 

That leads me here — if eyed with vigilance : 

The careless guaril tliat did not see me fly. 

May watcli as idly when thy power is nigh. 

Pacha! — my limbs arc faint — aud nature craves 

Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves : 

Permit my absence — peace be with thee! Peace 

With all arounil ! — now grant repose — release." 

" Stay, Dervise ! I have more to question — stay, 
I do conmiand thee — sit — dost hear ?— obey ! 
More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring ; 
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting; 
The supper done — prepare thee to reply, 
Clearly and full — I love not mystery." 

'Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man 
Who look'd not lovingly on that Divan ; 
Nor show'd high relish for the banquet prest, 
And less respect for every fellow-guest. 
'Twas but a moment's peevish hectic past 
Along his check, and tranquillized as fast : 
'J, 



18 THE CORSAIR. [canto ii. 

lie sate him clown in silence, and his look 
Resumed the calmness whiclx before forsook : 
The feast was iisher'd in— but sumptuous fare 
He shunn'd as if some poison mingled there. 
For one so long' condcmn'd to toil and fast, 
Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast. 

" What ails thee, Dcrvise ? eat — dost thou suppose 
This feast a Christian's ? or my friends thy foes ? 
Why dost thou shun the salt ? that sacred pledge, 
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabr<ys edge, 
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite, 
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight ! " 

" Salt seasons dainties — and my food is still 
The humblest root, my drink tlie simplest rill ; 
And mj- stern vow anil Order's* laws oppose 
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes ; 
It may seem strange — if there be aiught to dread. 
That peril rests upon my single head ; 
But for thy sway — nay more — thy Sultan's throne, 
I taste nor bread nor banquet — save alone ; 
Infringed our Order's rule, the Prophet's rage 
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage." 

" Well — as thou wilt— ascetic as thou art — 

One question answer ; then in peace depart. 

How many ? — Ha ! it cannot sure be day ? 

A\'hat star — what sun is bursting on tlie bay ? 

It shines a lake of fiix; ! — away — away ! 

Ho! treaclier}'! my guanls ! my scimitar! 

The galleys feed the llames — and I afar! 

Aecursrd Dervisc ! — these tliy tidings — thou 

Some villain spy — seize— cleave him — slay him now!" 

Up rose the Dcrvise with that burst of light, 
Nor less his change of I'orui apjiaH'il the sight: 
Up rose that Dcrvise — not in saintly garb, 
But like a warrior bounding on his barb, 
Dash'd his high cap, and tore his robe away — 
Shone his nuiil'd breast, and dash'd his sabre's ray ! 
His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, " 
More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom 
Glared on the ^Moslems' eyes some Afrit sprite, 
Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight. 
The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow 
Of tlames on high, and torches from below! 
The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell — 
For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell — 
Flung o'er that sjiot of earth the air of hell ! 
Distracted, to and fro, the rising slaves 
Behold but bloody shore and fieiy waves ; 
Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry. 
They seize that Dervise ! — seize on Za'tanai ! f 

* The (Jervises are in colleges, and of different orders, as the monks, 
t Satan. 



liiKWf'ir ii;i'«'''"iiriri,''';ir 




Up rosu (hat Dervise — uot in saintly garb, 
But like a warrioi- bouudiim; on his barb." 



Page ] 8. 



•jjlkto II.] Till-: consAiR. 

Ik" saw their tfrroi-— clicckM Uio first despair 

Tliiil ur-^^cd liiiii but to stiuul :iii<l i>crish tlicrc, 

Sinci' t';ir too ciirly ;iiiil too wtiW ohoyM, 

'Die Ihiim' was kinilU'd crc the si;,nial made; 

lie saw tlu'ir terror— IVom liis baldric drew 

His hiP'lc— liriel' the l)hist— hut slirilly l)lcw: 

Tis aiiswer'd— " Well ye speed, my ^allaul crcw ! 

Why dill 1 doubt their quiekness of career?^ 

AiKl deem desij,Mi had left me siujile here ?" 

Sweeps his lou^' arm -that sabre's whirliiif,' sway 

Sheds (Vist alonenieut Cor its lirst delay; 

Completes ids fury what their fear betiuu, 

And niaUes the many basely (|uail to one. 

The eloveu turl)aus o'er the eluuuber sjiread, 

And searce an arm dare rise to ;4uard its head : 

Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelm'd with raj;e, surprise, 

Retreats" lieforc him, thou^ih ho still deiies. 

No craven Ik;— and yet he dreads tlu^ blow, 

So mueii confusion ma;;iii(ies his foe! 

His lila/.iu;4- t^alleys still dislraet his sioht, 

He tore his l)ear(l, and foaming'- IUmI the fi^;ht;* 

For now the )iirates pass'd the Jlai'f:m ^rate, 

And burst within— and it were death to wait; 

Where wild Amazement shrieking'— kneclin;,'' throws 

The sword aside— in vain— the i)lood o'crllows! 

The Corsairs ponrin^', basic lo wiiere within 

Invilcd (.'onrad's bu^le, and the din 

Of ;,M-()aiiin;i- victims, and wdd cries for life, _ 

I'roclaim'd how well he did the work of strii'c. 

They shout to linil him tz:nm and lonely there, 

A ^iiutted ti^cr mau^ilinif in his lair! 

But short tiicir ^reelint,'— shorter his reyily— 

""I'is well— but Heyd escapes— and he must die— 

IMucli hath i)ceu done— but more renuiins to (lo — 

Their galleys blaze— why not tJieir city too ? " 



Quick at the woid— they seized hiui each a torch, 
And lii'i; the dome from nunaret lo porch. 
A stern delight was fixM in C(jnrad's eye, 
But sudden sunk— for on his ear the cry 
Of women struck, an<l like a deadly knell 
Knock'd at that heai-t unmoved by battle's yell. 
"Oh! biM'st the Harem— wron^,'- not on your livci 
One i'emale form — remember — ua have wives. 
On them such ontra^^e Venfreaiicc will repay; 
Man is our foe, and such 'lis ours to slay; 
]5ut slid we span — uiusi spare tin; weaker prey. 
Oil! 1 for;;ol — but Heaven will iu)t forgive, 
]f at my word the helpless cease to live: 
Follow who \vill— I ;:o — we yet have time 
Our souls to lij^hteu of at least a crime." 

• A rimimoii mid not vrv nnvcl cll'i'd of IMiissnlmau ar.Kor. Soe " I'rinco 
EiiKcncH .Memoirs," p. 21. "'rho Si-rusUicr received a wouikI in llie tliiyli; ho 
ohickod up liis beard by the rcxjt», liucausc lie was ol^ligcd to iiuit the held." 



20 THE CORSAIR. [canto il. 

IIo climbs tlic crnckliiiff Mftir— he bursts the door, 
Kor feels his feet i^'ow soorehins? with the lioor; 
His breath ehokeii pasiMiig wiih the vuiunieii smoke, 
IMit still fi'oni roou) to room his way he bioUe. 
They seareh-they liiui — they save: with lii>ty arms 
I'aeh Dears a jMi/e of iiiuenardeil eharms; 
Calm their loiul fears; sustain their siiikin;^ frames 
With all the eare ilei'eiieeless beauty claims: 
t^o well could Conrad tame their liereest mood, 
And cheek the very hands with jiore ind)iiied. 
But who is she f w horn Conrad's arms convey 
l''rom reekiiiiT pile .u\d eondiat's wreck —away — 
AVlu> Init the love of him he dooms to lileed ? 
The Harem (lueen— but still the slave of Seyd! 



Brief time had Conrad now to preet Gulnare,* 

Few wiirds to reassure the tremliliuir fair; 

For in that pause con)p;tssion huatcli'd from war, 

The foe before reliriuir, fast ami far, 

AVich wonder saw their footste))s unpursned. 

First slowlier lied— then rallieil— then withstood. 

This iSeyd perceives, then lirst )>ereeives iiow few, 

Com]iared with his, the Coi'sair's roving; crew, 

And blii!.hes o'er his error, as he eyes 

The ruin wron-jht by p:uiic aiul surprise. 

Alia il Alia! Vcn.ijeani'e swells the cry — 

iShaine mounts to raise tlutt must atone or die ! 

Ami llame for llame and blooii for bUnid must tell, 

The tiiie of trium()h ebbs that llow'd too WvMl — 

When wrath reiuriis to lenovaied strife. 

And those who fou,i;lit for conipiiest stiike for lil'o 

Conrad beheld the dan^'cr— he beheld 

His t'olUnvers taiitt by freshenijij; foes repcll'd: 

" One elfort— one— to break the cirelin.!; host!" 

They lorm— unite— charge— waver— ail is lost! 

V'ithin a narrower ling eompress'il, beset, 

Hopeless, 'lot heartless, strive ami strii;-'i:le yet — 

Ah ! now they lij;ht in lirme^t tile no more, 

Hennn'd in— cut olf— cleft down — aiui trampled o'er; 

But each strikes siuirly, silently, and home. 

And sinks outwearieti r.)ther than o'ercome, 

His last faint quittance reiulerimr with his breath, 

Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death ! 

VII. 

But first, ere came the rallying host to blows. 
And rank to raid?, and hand to hanil oppose, 
Ciulnare and all her Harem lunulmnids I'reed, 
Safe in the dome of tme who held thiir creed. 
By Conrad's mandate safely were ncstow'd, 
And ilried those tears for life and fame that llow'd. 
And when that dark-eyed lady, younj; Gulnare, 
Kecall'il those thou,:;hts late waiulering in despair, 

•r.iiliiare, a feiunle name. It moans, litorally, llu- tlower ol" the ponK'^.nuntrt 



CANTO U.] 



THE cons AIR. 



■21 



ISIlicli ((id slio luiu'vcl o'er tin' coili'ti's^y 

Tliat siiioolliM liis u(;cc'iits; sol'leiiM fn his eye : 

"I'wiis sliiui;^! — /JkU robber tliiiM willi ^orc bcdcwM 

SffiiiM tifiilliT llicn thai: Scyd in I'oiidcsl iiioiid. 

Tbc I'licbu \\()( ■>! as il' iir (U'cui'd ibc .si;i\ c 

Musi, Sinn (lcli;;b(i'd wilb tlio bear), lie ;;av('-, 

Till- Corsair vow'd protuctioii, sootiicd anVi;j;iit, 

As if his bonia;;(! wero ii woman's ri;:iil. 

"The wisii is \vron;i' — nay, worso i'or IrnialL' — vain: 

Yet nuicb I Ion;' In vicwliial. chii^l" a;;a,in; 

If Imt to lii;mk lor, wlial. niy I'car ror;,'ot, 

The lili: — niy loviii;:,- lord rcliicnibia-'ii not! " 



And him she saw, wlioro thicUcst (•arna;,''c sprciid, 

lint ^alhcrM brcalliin;;- iVom liic iiappicr dead; 

I'ar I'roiii iiis iiand, and ballUnji' wilii a host 

'I'liMl docui ri^i'ht, dearly won the lield he losi, 

Fell'd— bieedin^i— l)alfled of the death he sonn:ht, 

And snateh'd to e\iiiatc all the ills he wron;4ht ; 

Preserved to lin;^'er and to liv(^ in vain, 

While Veii;;ean<'i' ponder'd o'er new i>lans ol" jjaiu, 

And staneb'd tb(^ i)lood she saves to shed a.;;aiii — 

lint drop by drop, for Seyd's unplatted ev(! 

Would doom him (ivcr dyinf;'— ne'er to die ! 

(Ian this b(^ he ? triumphant late she saw, 

Wlu'ii his red hand'^ wild ^'esliire waved, a law! 

"l"is he indeed — disiirm'd but nndeprest, 

]Iis sole re;4rel, the lil'(! be still possest ; 

llis wounds loo sliji'hl, thoui;'ii taki'n with liiat will, 

Which would have kiss'd the hand that then eoidil kill. 

Oh, were lliere none, of all the many ;^iven, 

To send his soul — Ik; scarcely ask'd to heaven ! 

Must h(^ alone of all retain his breath, 

/Who more than all had striven and struck for deatii ? 

^ Il(' deeply felt — what, luorlal hearts nuisl feci, 
When thus reversed on faithless I'\irtune's wheel, 
I'or crimes comnnlted, and the; victoi^'s threat 
Of lin^erin;^' tortures to I'cpay tlu^ debt — 
lie deiply, darkly felt; hnt evil prid(! 
That led lo perpeti'at(^ — now nerves to hide. 
Still in his sl<'rn and self-collected mien 
A conipieror's moi'e than capti\'e's air is stuMi; 
1'lioujih faint with wasting' toil and slilfcnin^' wouilil, 
l}nt few that saw — so calndy i^a/.ed ai'oiinil : 
'l'hon;ih the far-shoutin;^ ol' tlu; distant crowd, 
Their trcmoi's o'ei', rose insolently loud. 
The belter waiaiors who beheld him near. 
Insulted not the foe who ta.u;ilit, tlicni fear; 
AikI th(! ;ii'im j^uards tiiat to his durance; led, 
In silence eyed him with a .secret dread. 



The TiCccli was sent — but not in mercy — there, 
To note iiow uiuch the life yet left could bear; 



22 THE CORSAIR. [canto u. 

IIo Ibuiul oiioufili to load with heaviest chain, 

And i)TOniise feeling' for the wreneh of pain : 

To-morrow — yea — to-morrow's evening' sun 

Will sinking see impalcmetit's pangs begun, 

And rising with the wonted hhisli of morn 

Behold how well or ill tliose i)angs are borne. 

Of torments this tlie longest and the worst, 

Whieh adds all other agonv to thirst, 

That day l)v day death still fori)ears to slake, 

"While fainish'd vultures Hit around the stake. 

" Oh ! water — water! "— smiling Ilate denies 

The victim's iirayer — for if he drinks — he dies. 

This was his doom; — the Leech, tlu' guard, were gone, 

And left proud Conrad fetter'd anil alone. 

X. 

'Twerc vain to paint to what his feelings grew — 

It even were doulitl'ul if theii' \ ietim knew. 

There is a war, a chaos of the mintl, 

When all its elements convulsed — combined — 

Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force. 

And gnasiiing with impenitent Remorse; 

That juggling liend — who never sjjake before — 

But cries, " 1 warn'd thee! " when the deed is o'er. 

Vain voice ! the spirit burning but unbent, 

May writhe — rt'bel— the weak alone repent! 

Even in that lonely hour when most it feels. 

And, to itself, all— all that self reveals. 

No single passion, and no ruling thought 

That leaves the rest as onee unseen, unsi>ught; 

But the wild jirospeet when the soul leviews — 

All rushing tlirough their thousand avenues, 

Ambition's dreams expiring, love's regret, 

Endanger'd glory, life itself beset; 

The joy untasted", the contempt or hate 

'(ralnst those who fain would trium])!) in our fate; 

The hopeless past, the hasting futin-e driven 

Too quickly on to guess if hell or heaven ; 

Deeds, thoughts, and words, perhaps remember'd not 

So keenlv till that lionr, but ne'er forgot ; 

Tilings light or lovely in their acted time. 

But now to stern relleetion each a (;riine : 

The withering sense of evil uurevcal'd, 

Kot canke.'ing less because the more conceal'd — 

All, in a word, from which all eyes must start, 

That opening sepulchre — the naked heart, 

Bares with its buried woes, till Pride awake. 

To snatch the mirror from the soul — and break. 

Av — Briile can veil, ami Courage brave it all. 

All— all— before— beyond— the deadliest fall. 

Each hath some fear, and he who least betrays. 

The only hypocrite deserving praise : 

Not the loud recreant wretch wlio boasts and flies; 

But he wlio looks on death — and silent dies. 

So steel'd by pondering o'er his far career. 

He half-wav lueeti him should ue men;u.'e near! 



CANTO ii.J THE CORSAIR. 23 

XI. 

In the hi"h ohainbcr of liis hijrlu^st tower 

B;iti- CoiinMl, lottcrM in the I'aehu's power. 

liis puhiee pensliM in the Ihuiie— this fort 

CoutainM at onec his eaptive and his eonrt. 

Not much eoukl (,'onra.l of his senteuee hhimc, 

His foe, if vauquishM, had bnt shared the same :— 

Alone he sate— in solitude— and seann d ^ 

His ■■■uiltv hosoni. hut that breast ho mann d : 

One Uu)u'-ht alone he (-(Md.l not-dared not, incct— 

" Oh, how these tidin-s will Medora ^'rect ?_ 

Then-onlv then-his clankinji; hands he raised, 

And strain'd with ra-e the ehain on winch he fzazed, 

But soon he found-or fei-ii'd-or dream d reliei, 

And smiled in self-derision of Ins -net. 

"And now come torture when it will— or may, 

More need of rest to nerve nic lor the day ! 

This said, with laimuor to his mat he crept, 

And, whatsoe'er his visions, <iuicklv slept. 

'Twas hardly niidiii-iht when that iray be^fun, 

For Conrad's plans matured, at once were done : 

And Havoc loathes so much the waste ot time, 

She scan^c had left an uncomnntted crime. ^ 

One hour beheld him since the tide he stenmi d— _ 

l)is.n,ised-discover'd-coii(iuerin--ta en-condcmQ d- 

A chief on land— an outlaw on the deep- 
Destroying— savinjr—pi'ison'd— and asleep ! 

XII. 

He slept in calmest secmiiipr— for his breath 

Was hnsb'd so deep-Ah! happy li m death! 

Ho slept— Who o'er his placid slumber bends i^ 

His foes arc gone— and here he bath no Irieuds; 

Is it some seraph sent to grant him grace . 

No, 'tis an earthly form with heavenly lace '. 

Its white arm raised a lamp— yet gently lad, 

Lest the rav flash abruptly on the lid 

Of that closed eye, wdiicii opens bnt to pain. 

And once uiudosed— but once may close again. 

That form with eye so dark, and check so lair. 

And auburn waves of gciiiin'd and braidctl hair; 

With shape of fairy lightness— naked foot. 

That shines like siiow, and falls on earth as "mfc— 

Throu.'-h guards and dunnesl night how caine it there i 

Ah I rather ask what will not woman dare ? 

Whom youth and pity lead like thee, (iulnarc! 

She coiild not sleep— and while the 1 aeha s rest 

In muttering dreams yet saw bis piratc-guest, 

She left his side, his signet-ring she bore, 

Which oft in siiort adorn'd her hand betore— 

And with it, scarcely (pu'stiou'd, won her way 

Through drowsy guanls that must that sign obey. 

Worn out with toil, and tired with changing blows, 

"Iheh- eyes had envied Conrad his repose; 



24 THE CORSAIR. [canto n. 

And diill :\nf\ noildinjr at the turret door. 
They stretch then- listless limbs, and watch no more ; 
Just raised their heads to hail the si<jnet-ring, 
Nor ask or what or who the sign may bring. 

XiII. 

She gazed in wonder, " Can he calmly sleep, 
While other eyes his fall or ravage weep ? 
And mine in restlessness are waniU'ring here— 
What sudden spell hath made this man so dear ? 
True— 'lis to him my lite, and more, I owe. 
And me and mine he spared from worse than woe! 
'Tis late to think— hut soft— his shunber breaks- 
How heavily he sighs ! — he starts— awakes ! " 

He raised his head— and dazzled with the light, 

His eve seem'd dubious if it saw aright : 

He moved his hand — the grating of his chain 

Too harshly told hiui that he lived again. 

" What is that form ? if not a shape ef-air, 

Methinks my jailer's face shows womlrous fair ! " 

" Pirate ! thou know'st mc not — but I am one, 
Grateful for deeds thou hast too rarely done; 
Look on me — and remember her thy hand 
Snatch'd from the llames, and thy I'nore fearful band. 
1 come through darkness — and I scarce know why — 
Yet not to hurt — 1 would not see thee die." 

" If so, kind ludy ! thine the only eye 

That would not licrc in that gay liopc delight : 

Theirs is the chance — and let tliem use their right. 

But still 1 thank their courtesy or thine, 

That woidd coufcss mo at so lair a, shrine ! " 

Strange though it seem — yet with cxti-cmest grief 
Is link'd a mii'th — it doth not bring relief — 
Thai playfulness of Sorrow ne'er beguiles. 
And suulcs in bitterness — but still it smiles; 
And sometimes with the wisest an.d the best, 
Till even the scatlbld* echoes with their jest! 
Yet nol the joy to which it seems akin- 
It may deceive all hearts, save that within. 
A\'hat'e'er it was tiiat llash'd on Conrad, now 
A laughing wildness half unbi>nt his brow: 
And these Ids acceels had a sound of mirth, 
As if the last he could enjoy on earth ; 
Yet 'gainst his natin-e — for "through that short life, _ 
Few thoughts had he to spare from gloom and strife. 

♦ In Sir Thomas More, for instanco, on the scafToUl, and Anne Roleyn in tlie 
Towor, wluMi, jtraspliif; lior nock, slio rcniark'd, that it " was too slender to 
troalilo till' liea<lstn;ni niueli." Duriiif; one \r.tvt of the Kreiu-h Kevohitioii, it 
beeaine a fashion to leave some " nioi "' as a leiraey: and the quantitv of face- 
tious last wonis spolicn during that iierioU would form a melancholy jest-book 
of considerahic size. 



CANTO /I.] THE CORSAIR. 2.5 

XIV. 

"Corsair! Iliy doom is namoil— liiil I liavc power 

To soollu' tin: ruclia in his weaker hour. 

Tliee woulil 1 spare— nay more— would save thee now, 

But this— tinu — liopc— nor even thy strength allow, 

liut all I can I will : at least delay 

Thi' sentence that remits thee scarce a day. 

Wore now wen; ruin — even thyself were loth 

The vaiu attemi)t should brinj,^ hut doom to both." 

"Yes!— loth indeed :— my soul is nciTcd to all, 

Or iall'n too low to fear a" further fall : 

Tempt not thvself with peril; inc with hope 

Of lli;:ht tVon'i Hx'S with whom I could not cope : 

UnfilTo vanipiish — shall I meanly lly, 

The one of all my !)and that would not die ? 

Yet there is one— to whom my memory clinys. 

Till to these eyes her own wild softness spring's. 

My sole resources in the path I trod 

Were these- mv hark— my sword— my love— my God ! 

The last I left iii youth— lie leaves me now— 

And Man hut works His will to lay nie h)W. 

I have no tlioiiuht to mock His throne with prayer 

AVrun^' from the (!oward crouching- of despair; 

It is enou;;h — I l)reathc — and I can hear. 

My sword is shakcMi from the worthless hand 

That niiLiht have better kept so true a brand; 

]Sly hark is sunk or captive — hut my love— 

For hi.'r in sooth my voice would mount a!)ovc : 

Oh! she is all that 'still to earth can bind— 

And this will break a heart so more than kind, 

And bli;,'ht a form— till thine aiipear'd, (iuluare! 

Mine eye ne'er ask'd if others were so fair." 

" Thou lov'st another then ?— but what to me 
Is this — 'tis nothinn' — nothin;r e'er can be: 
But yet- thou lov'st— and— oh ! I envy those 
Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, 
Who never feel tiie void — the waiidcM-in^i' thou^dit 
That siffhs o'er visions— such as mine hath wrought." 

" Lady — methought thy love was his, for whom 
This arm redecm'd thee from a fiery tomb." 

" My love stern Seyd's ! Oh— no— no— not my love- 
Yet iiHich tliis heart, that strives no more, onec strove 
To meet his passion — but it would not be. 
I ielt— I feel— love dwells with— with the free. 
I am a slave, a favor'd slave at best, 
To share his sjilendor, and seem very l)lest! 
Oft must mv soul the ((\u;stion under^'o, 
Of—' Dost thou love ? ' and binii to answer, ' No 1 ' 
Oh ! hard it is that fondness to sustain. 
And strui;f,de not to feel averse in vain ; 
But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, 
And hide from one— p-^rhaps another there. 



26 THE CORSAIR. [canto ii. 

He hikes the hand I give not — nor withholcl — 
Its pulse nor chcck'd — nor quicken'd — cahnly cold, 
And when resign'd, it drops a hfeless weight 
From one I never loved enough to hate. 
No warmth these lips return by his imprest. 
And chill'd remembrance shudders o'er the I'cst. 
Yes — had I ever proved that passion's zeal, 
The change to hatred were at least to feel ; 
But still— he goes unmonrn'd— returns unsought — 
And oft wlien present — absent from my thought. 
Or when reflection comes, and come it must — 
I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust; 
I am his slave — l)ut, in despite of pride, 
'Twcre worse than bondage to become his bride. 
Oh that this dotage of his breast would cease ! 
Or seek another and give mine release, 
But yesterday — I could have said, to peace ! 
Yes — if unwonted fondness now I feign, 
Remember — captive ! 'tis to break thy chain; 
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe ; 
To give thee back to all endear'd bcltuv, 
Wlio share such love as I can never know. 
Farewell — morn breaks — and I must now away : 
"Twill cost me dear — but dread no death to-day ! " 

XV. 

She press'd his fetter'd fingers to her heart, 

And bow'd her head, and turn'd her to depart, 

And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone. 

And was she here ? and is he now alone ? 

What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chain ? 

The tear most sacred, shed for others' pain. 

That starts at once — bright — pure — from Pity's mine. 

Already polish'd by t\\e hand divine ! 

Oil ! too convincing — dangerously dear — 

In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! 

That weapon of her weakness she can wield. 

To save, subdue — at once her spear and shield : 

Avoid it — Virtue ebl:)s and Wisdom errs, 

Too fondl}- gazing on that grief of hers ! 

What lost a world, and bade a hero fly ? 

The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye. 

Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven; 

By this — how many lose not earth — but heaven ! 

Consign their souls to man's eternal foe. 

And seal their own to spare some wanton's woe. 

XVI. 

'Tis morn — and o'er his alter'd features play 
The beams — without the hope of yesterday. 
What shall he be ere night ? perchance a thing 
O'er which the raven flaps her funeral wing : 
By his closed eye unheeded and unfelt, 
While sets that sun, and dews of evening melt. 
Chill — wet— and misty round each s^iffeu'd limb, 
Refreshing earth — reviving all but hiiu ! — 



CA^TO III.] THE CORSAIR. 27 

CANTO TITE THIRD. 

" Come vedi — ancor non m'abbandona." — DanT3. 



Slow sinks, more lovclj ere his race be run, 

Along' Morca's hills the setting sun : 

Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, 

But one unclouded blaze of living light ! 

O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, 

Gilds the green wave, that trembles e,s it glows. 

On old ^Egina's rock, and Idra's isle, 

The god of gladness slicds his parting smile ; 

O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine. 

Though there his altars are no more divine. 

Descending fast the mountain shadows kiss 

Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis ! 

Their azure arches through the long expanse 

More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance. 

And tendcrest tints, along their summits driven, 

Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven j 

Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep. 

Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. 

On such an eve, his palest beam he cast. 
When — Athens ! here thy Wisest look'd his last. 
lio^■^ watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, 
That closed their murder'd sage's * latest day ! 
Not yet — not yet — Sol pauses on the liill — 
The precious hour of parting lingers still ! 
But sad his light to agonizing eyes, 
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes : 
Gloom o'er the lovely land ho seera'd to pour, 
The land, where Phcebus never frown'd before 5 
But ere he sank below Cithferon's head, 
The cup of w»e was qualTd — the spirit fled ; 
The so'.il of him who scorn'd to fear or fly — 
Who lived and died, as none can live or die : 
But lo ! from high Hymettus to the plain. 
The queen of night assorts her silent reign. f 
No murky vapor, herald of the storm. 
Hides her fair face, nor girds her glowing form ; 
With cornice glimmering as the moonl)eams play. 
There tlie white column greets her grateful ray, 
And, bright arotmd with quivering beams beset, 
Her emblem sparkles o'er the minaret : 
The groves of olive scattor'd darl< and wide 
Where meek Ccphisus pours his scanty tide, 
The cypress saddening by the sacred mosque. 
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk, X 

* Socrates rtrank the hemlock a short time before sunset, (the hour of execu- 
tion,) notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went 
down. 

t The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country; the days in 
winter are longer, but in summer of shorter duration. 

+ Tltc kiosk is a Turkish summer-house; the palm is without the present walls 



28 THE CORSAIR. [cajstto m. 

Ami, (hin and sonilirc 'mid the holy calm, 
Near Theseus' lane yon solitary palm, 
All tinired with varied hues, arrest the eye — 
Aud dull were his that pass'd them heedless by. 

Again the iEjjcan, heard no more afar, 
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war; 
Again his waves in milder tints unfold 
Their long array of sapphire and of gold, 
ISIix'd with the shades of many a distant isle. 
That frown — where gentler ocean seems to smile.* 

II. 

Not now my Ihcnio — why turn my thoughts to thee ? 

Oh! who cai\ look along thy native sea. 

Nor dwell ujion thy name, whate'cr the tale. 

So much its magic uuist o'er all prevail ? 

"Who that holu'ld that Sun upon thee set. 

Fair Athens ! conid thine evening face forget ? 

Not he — whose heart nor time nor distance frees, 

Spellbound within the clustering (?iclades ! 

Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain. 

His Corsair's isle was once thine own domain — 

"Would that with freedom it were thine again ! 

m. 

The Sun hath sunk — and, darker than the night. 
Sinks with its beam u)ion the beacon height — 
Medora's heart — the third day 's come and gone — 
"With it he comes not — sends not — fiiithless one 1 
The wind was fair though light; and storms were noue. 
Last eve .Vnsclmo's liark return'd, and yet 
His only tidings that they had not met! 
Though wild, as now, far ditlerent were the tale 
Had Conrad waited for that single sail. 

* 
The night-breeze freshens — she that day had pass'd 
In watching all that Hope proclaim'd a mast; 
Sadly she sate — on high — Impatience bore 
At last her footsteps to the midnight shore. 
And there she wandcr'd, heedless of the spray 
That dash'd her garments oft, and waru'd away : 
She saw not — felt not this — nor dared depart. 
Nor deem'd it cold — her chill was at her heart; 
Till grew such certainty from that suspense — 
His very sight had shock'd from life or sense ! 

It came at last — a sad and shatter'd boat, 

Whose inmates first beheld whom first they sought; 

of Athens, not far from the temple of Theseus, between which ami the tree the 
wai: intervenes. Ccphisus' stream is indeed scanty, anil Ilissus has no stream 
at aH. 

* Tlie openhii; lines, as far as section ii., have, perhaps, little business here, 
and were annexed to an uniuiblislied (thoiigli pi'intod) pneui: but they were 
written on the spot in the spiinir nf ISll, and— I scarce know why — the reader 
must ex.cuse their appejiranee here if he can. 



CANTO III.] THE CORSAIR. 2 

Some blocilinfr — all most ■WTetched — these the few^ 

Sciircc knew they how escaped — f/iis all they knew. 

In silence, darklin;^', each appear'd to wait 

His fellow's mouvnlul jriicss at Conrad's fate : 

Somcthiu';' they would have said; but scem'd to fear 

To trust their accents to ISIcdora's ear. 

She saw at once, yet sank not — trembled not — 

Beneath that ffv'wS, that loneliness of lot, 

Within that meek fair form, where feelings high, 

That dcem'd not till thej' found their energy. 

"While yet was Hope — they soften'd— flutter'd — wept — 

All lost — that sof^'ness died not — hnt it slept; 

And o'er its slum1)er rose that Strength which said, 

" With nothing left lolovc — there's nought to dread." 

'Tis more tb.an nature's ; like the burning might 

Delirium gathers from the fever's height. 

" Silent you stand — nor would T hear you tell 
What — speak not — bi-eathe not — for I know it well — 
Yet would I ask — almost my lip denies 
The — quick your answer — tell mc where he lies." 

"Lady! we know not — scarce with life we fled; 

But here is one denies that he is dead : 

He saw him bound; and bleeding — but alive." 

She heard no further — 'twas in vain to strive — 

So throbb'd each vein — each thought — till then withstood' 

Her own dark soul — these words at once subdued ; 

She totters — falls — and senseless had the wave 

Perchance but snatcli'd her from another grave ; 

But that with hands though rude, yet weeping eyes, 

They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies ; 

Dash o'er her doath-likc cheek the ocean-dew, 

Raise — fan — sustain — till life returns anew ; 

Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leave 

Tliat fainting form o'er which they gaze and grieve ; 

Tlien seek Ansclmo's cavern, to report 

The tale too tedious — when the triumph short. 

IV. 

In that wild council words wax'd wai'm and strange. 
With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge ; 
All, save repose or flight : still lingering there 
Breathed Conrad's spirit, and forliade despair ; 
Whate'er his fate — the breasts he form'd and led. 
Will save him living, or appease him dead. 
Woe to his foes ! there yet survive a few, 
Whose deeds arc daring, as their hearts are true. 

V. 

Within the Harem's secret chamber sate 
Stern Seyd, still pondering o'er his Captive's fate; 
His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell. 
Now with Guluare, and now in Conrad's cell; 



go THE CORSAIR. [canto hi. 

Here at his feet the loveh' slave reclined 

Surveys his brow — -wouki soothe his g-loom of mind : 

Wliile many an anxious glance her large dark eye 

Sends in its idle search for sympathj', 

His only bends in scemiug o'er his beads,* 

But inly views his victim as he bleeds. 

" Pacha ! the day is thine ; and on thy crest 
Sits Triumph — Conrad taken — fall'n the rest ! 
His doom is fix'd — he dies : and well his fate 
Was earn'd — yet much too worthless for thy hate : 
ISIethinks, a short release, for ransom told 
"With all his treasure, not unwisely sold ; 
Ecport sjicaks laru'cly of his pirate-hoard— 
Would that of this iny Pacha were the lord! 
AYhile hatttod, wcakciVd by tliis fatal fray — 
Ys'atch'd — foUow'd— he were then an easier prey; 
But once cut otf— the remnant of his band 
Embark their wealth, and seek a safer strand." 

" Gulnarc ! — if for each drop ofH&lood a gem 

Were oifer'd rich as Stamboul's diadem; 

If for each hair of his a massy mine n 

Of virgin ore sliould supplicating shine ; 

If all our Arab tales divulge or dream 

Of wealth were here — that gold should not redeem ! 

It had not now redeem'd a single hour. 

But that I know him fettcr'd, in my power; 

And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still 

On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill." 

" Nay, Sej'd ! — I seek not to restrain thy rage, 
Too Justly moved for mercy to assuage ; 
My thoughts were only to secure for thee 
His riches — thus released, he were not free : 
Disabled, shorn of half his might and band. 
His capture could but wait thy first command." 

" His capture covM ! — and shall I then resign 
One day to him — the wretch already mine ? 
Kelease my foe ! — at whose remonstrance ? — thine I 
Fair suitor! — to thy virtuous i;ratitude, 
That thus repays this (xiaour's relenting mood, 
Which thee and thine alone of all could spare, 
No doubt — regardless if the prize were fair, 
My thanks and praise alike are due — now hear ! 
I have a counsel for thy gentler ear : 
I do mistrust thee, woman ! and each word 
Of thine stamps truth on all Suspicion heard. 
Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai — 
Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly ? 
Thou need'st not answer — thy confession speaks, 
Alreadj' reddening on thy guilty cheeks ; 

* The Comboloio, or Mohammedan rosary. The beads are in number ninety- 
one. 



CANTO III.] THE CORSAIR. 31 

Then, lovely darac, bethink thee ! and beware : 

'Tis not his life alone may elaini such care ! 

Another word and — nay — I need no more. 

Accursed was the moment when he bore 

Thee from the llames, whic-h better far — but — no— 

I then had mourn'd thee with a lover's woe — 

Now, 'tis thy lord that warns — deceitful thing ! 

Know'st thou that I can clip thy wanton wing ? 

In words alone I am not wont to chafe : 

Look to thyself— nor deem thy falsehood safe ! " 

lie rose — and slowly, sternly thence withdrew, 
Rajj:e in his eye, and threats in his adieu : 
Ah ! little reek'd that chief of womanhood — 
Which frowns ne'er (jucU'd, nor menaces subdued; 
And little decm'd he what thj^ heart, GJulnare ! 
When soft could feel, and when incensed could dare. 
His doubts appear'd to wronj^ — nor j'ct she knew 
How deep the root from whence compassion <rrcw — 
She was a slave — from such may captives claim 
A fellow-feeling, differing but in name ; 
Still half unconscious — heedless of his wi'ath, 
Again she ventured on the dangerous path. 
Again his rage repcll'd — until arose 
That strife of thought — the source of woman's woes! 



Meanwhile — long anxious — weary — still — the same 

lloll'd day and night — his soul could never tame — 

This fearful interval of doubt and dread, 

When every hour might doom him worse than dead, 

When every step that ecbo'd by the gate 

Might entering lead where axe and stake await ; 

When every voice that grated on his car 

Might ])e the last that he could ever hear ; 

Could terror tame — that spirit stern anil high 

Had proved unwilling as unfit to die; 

'Twas worn — perhaps decay'il — yet silent bore 

That conflict deadlier far than all before : 

Tlie heat of fight, tlie hurry of the gale. 

Leave scarce one thought inert enough to quail; 

But bound and fix'd in fetter'd solitude. 

To pine, the prey of every changing mood; 

To gaze on thine own heart ; and meditate 

Irrevocable faults, and coming fate — 

Too late the last to shun — the first to mend — 

To count the hours that sti-uggle to thine end, 

With not a friend to anim;',te, and tell 

To other ears tliat death became thee well ; 

Around thee foes to forge the ready lie. 

And blot life's latest scene with calumny; 

Before thee tortures, which the soul can dare. 

Yet doubts how well the shrinking flesh may bear; 

But deeply feels a single cry would shame. 

To valor's praise thy last and dearest claim ; 



82 THE CORSAIR. [CANTO ni 

Tlic life thou Icav'st below, denied above 
By kind monoixilists of heavenly love; 
And HKire than dmihtl'ul panuhsc — thy heaven 
Of earthly hope — thy loved one from thee riven. 
Such were the thonj;hts that outlaw nutst sustain 
And govern pani;s surpassinj;: mortal \Kim : 
And those sustai'i'd he — boots it well or ill ? 
binee not to sink oeneath, is something- still 1 

VII. 

The first day pass'd — he saw not her — Gulnare — 

The second — third — and still she came not there; 

But what her words avouch'd, her cliarms had done, 

Or else he had not seen another sun. 

The fourth day roU'd alonji, and with the nijjht 

Came storm aiid darkness in tlieir miniiling might: 

Oh ! how he listenM to the rnsliing deep, 

That ne'er till now so l)i'oke upon his sleep; 

And his wild spirit wiklcr wishes sent, 

Boused l\v the roar of his own element ! 

Oft bail he ridden on that winged^vavc. 

And loved its roughness for the speed it gave ; 

And now its dashing echo'd on his ear, 

A long known voice — alas! too vainly near! 

Loud Sling the wind above; and, doubly loud, 

Sliook o'er bis turret-cell the tliuiidor-eloud ; 

And tlash'd the lightning by the latticed l)ar, 

To him more genial than the midnight star: 

Close to the glimmering grate he dragg'd his chain, 

And hoped t/i<if peril might not i)rove in vain. 

lie raised his iron liantl to Heaven., and jiray'd 

One pitying Hash to mar the form it made : 

His steel and impious prayer attract alike — 

The storm roll'd onward, and d.isdain'd to strike; 

Its peal wax'd fainter — ceased — he felt alone, 

As if some faithless friend had spurn'd his groan ! 

VIII. 

The midnight pass'd — and to the massy door 
A light step came — it paused — it moved once more; 
Slow turns the grating bolt and sullen key : 
'Tis as his heart foreboded — that fair She ! 
Whate'er her sins, to him a guardian saint. 
And beauteous still as hermit's hope can paint; 
Yet changed sinee last within tluU cell she came, 
!Morc pale her cheek, more tremidous her frame : 
On him she cast her dark ami hurried eye, 
"Which spoke before her accents — " Tliou must die! 
Yes, thou must die — there is but one resource, 
The last — the worst — if torture were not worse." 

" Lady ! I look to none — my lips proclaim 
What last proclaim'd they— Conrad still tlie same: 
Win- sliouldst thou seek an outlaw's life to spare, 
Atul change the sentence I deserve to bear ? 
Well have I carn'd — nor here alone — the meed 
Of Scyd's revenge, by many a lawless deed." 



CANTO III.] THE CORSAIR. 33 

"Why shoulil I seek ? bet'iMtsc — oh! ditlst thou not 

rtedeoiu my liCo from worse than slavery's lot ? 

Why shoiiUl 1 seek ? — halh misery made thee blind 

To the lond workinjrs of a woman's mind! 

Anil must I say ? albeit my heart rel)cl 

With all that woman feclsi but should not toll— 

Because — despite thy crimes — that iieart is moved : 

It fear'd thee— thank'd thee— pitied — madden'd — loved. 

llcplv nol, tell not now thy tale a^'ain, 

Thuii lov'st another — and I love in vain; 

Thoufih fond as mine her bosom, form more fair, 

I rush throujih peril which she would not dare. 

If that tliy heart to hers were truly dear, 

Were I tliine own — thou wert not lonely here : 

An outlaw's s])ousc — and leave her lord to I'oam ! 

\Vliat hath su(!h fzentle dame to do with home ? 

But speak not now — o'er thine and o'er my head 

llanfj;s the keen sabre by a sinj>le threail ; 

If thou hast courage still, and would be free. 

Receive this poniard — rise — and follow mc ! " 

" Av — in my chains ! my steps will jrently tread. 
With these adornments, o'er each shnnbcriny head! 
Thou hast for-rot— is this af^urb for lli^'ht ? 
Or is that iustrumciit more lit for light ? " 

" Misdoubting Corsair! I have frain'd the guard, 
Ripe for revolt, and greedy for reward. 
A single word of mine removes that chain : 
Without some aid how here could I remain ? 
Well, since we met, hath sped ni)'- busy time. 
If in aught evil, for tin' sake the crime : 
Tlie crime — 'tis none to punish those of Seyd, 
That hated tyrant, ( 'onrad — he must bleed ! 
I sec thee shudder — but my soul is changed — 
Wrong'd, spurn'd, reviled— and it shall be avenged-^ 
Accused of what till now my he;n-t dipdain'd — 
Too faithful, tiiough to Intter Ijondagc chain'd. 
Yes, smile!— liut he had little cause to sneer, 
I was not tri'acherous tlien — nor thou too dear: 
But he has said it — and the jealous well, 
Those tyrants, teasing, tempting to rebel, 
Deserve the fate their fretting lips foretell. _ 
I never loved — he bought me — somewhat high — 
Since with rac came a heart he could not buy. 
I was a slave unmurnun-ing : he bath said. 
But for his rescue I with thee had tied. 
"Twas false thou know'st — but let such augurs rue, 
Their words are omens Insult renders true. 
Nor was thy respite granted to my prayer ; 
This fleeting grace was oidy to prepare 
New torments for thy life, and my despair. 
]Minc too he threatens; but his dotage still 
V Would fain reserve me for his lordly will ; 

When wearier of these fleeting cliarms and me. 
There yawns the sack — and jouder rolls the sea, 
3 



34 THE CORSAIR. [canto la 

"WHiat, am I then a toy for dotard's play, 

To wear but till the g-ildiiij^ frets away ? 

I saw thee — loved thee — owe thee all — would save, 

If Init to show how grateful is a slave. 

But had he not thus nienaeed fame and life, 

(And well he keeps his oaths pronounced in strife,) 

I still had saved thee — but the Pacha spared. 

Now I am all thine own — foi- all prepared ; 

Thou lov'st me not — nor know'st — or but the worst. 

Alas ! this love — that hatred are the first — 

Oh ! couldst thou prove my truth, thou wouldst not start. 

Nor fear the fire that li^i'hts an Eastern heart ; 

'Tis now the beacon of thy safet\' — now 

It points within the port a Mainotc prow: 

But in one chamber, where our path must lead, 

There sleeps — he must not wake — the oppressor Scyd! " 

" Gulnare — Gulnare — I never felt till now 

My abject fortune, withcr'd fame so low : 

Seyd is mine enemy : had swept my band 

From eai'th with ruthless but with open hand, 

And therefore came I, in my barlCof war, 

To smite the sraitcr Mith the scimitar; 

Such is my weapon — not the secret knife — 

Who spares a woman's seeks not slumber's life. 

Thine saved I gladly, Lady, not for this — 

Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss. 

Now fare thee well — more peace be with tiiy breast! 

Night wears apace — my last of earthly rest ! " 

" Eest ! rest ! by sunrise must thy sinews shake, 

And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake. 

I heard" tlie order — saw — I will not see — 

If thou wilt pcrisli, I will fall with thee. 

My life — my love — my hatreil — all below 

Are on this cast — Corsair ! 'tis but a blow ! 

Without it flight were idle — how evade 

itis sure pursuit ? my wrongs too unrepaid. 

My youth disgraced — the long, long wasted j-cars. 

One blow shall cancel with our future fears ; 

But since the dagger suits thee less than brand, 

I'll try the firmness of a female hand. 

The guards are gain'd — one moment all were o'er — 

Corsair ! we meet in safety or no more ; 

If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud 

Will hover o'er thy scatfold, and ray shroud." 



She turn'd, and vanish'd ere he could reply, 
But his glance follow'd far with eager eye ; 
And gathering, as he could, the links that bound 
His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound, 
Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude, 
He, fast as fetter'd limbs allow, pursued. 
*Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where 
That passage led ; nor lamp nor guard were there : 



CANTO III.] THE CORSAIR. 35 

lie sees a dusky i>limmcring- — shall he seek 

Or shun that ray so Indistinct and weak ? 

Chance truidcs Ins steps — a iVcshness seems to bear 

Full on his brow, as if IVoni mornin<; air — 

He reach'd an o])en frnHery — on his eye 

Gleam'd the last star of nij;'ht, the clc'aring sky : 

Yet scarcely liceded these — another light 

From a lone chamber struck upon his sight. 

Towards it he moved ; a scarcely closing door 

IJeveal'd the ray within, but notliing more. 

With hasty step a figure outward pass'd. 

Then paused — and turu'd — and paused — 'tis She at last! 

No poniard in tliat hand — nor sign of ill — 

"Thanks to tliat softening heart — slie couM not kill! " 

Again he look'd, the wildness of her eye 

Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully. 

Slie stopp'd — threw back her dark far-tloating hair, 

That nearly veil'd her face and bosom fair : 

As if she late had bent her leaning head 

Above some object of her doidit or dread. 

They meet— ui)on her brow — unknown — forgot — 

Herhurrying hand had left — 'twas but a spot — 

Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood— 

Oh ! slight but certain pledge of crime— 'tis blood ! 

X. 

He had seen battle — he had brooded lone 
O'er promised pangs to sentenced guilt foreshown; 
He had l)ecn tempted — chastcu'd— and the chain 
Yet on his arms might ever there remain : 
But ne'er from strife — cajitivity — remorse — 
From all his feelings in their inmost force- 
So thrill'd— so shudder'd every creeping vein, 
As now tliey froze before that purple stain. 
That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak, 
Had bauisli'd all the beauty from her cheek ! 
Blood he had view'd — could view unmoved — but then 
It tlow'd in combat, or was shed by men ! 



" 'Tis done — he nearly waked — but it is done. 
Corsair ! ho ]icrish'd — thou art dearly won. 
All words would now be vain — away — away! 
Our bark is tossing — 'tis already day. 
The few gain'd over, now are wholly mine, 
And these thy j'et surviving band shall join: 
Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand, 
When oiice our sail forsakes this hated strand." 

XII. 

She clapp'd her hands — and through the gallery poar, 
Eciuipp'd for llight, her vassals — (Jreek and Moor; 
Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind ; 
Once more his limbs arc free as mountain wind! 
But on his heavy heart snch sadness sate. 
As if they there transferr'd that iron weight. 



36 THE CORSAIR. [canto m. 

No words arc uttcr'il — at licr sign, a door 
Reveals tlic secret passage to the shore ; 
The city lies hchiiul — they sjieed, tliey reach 
The ghul waves daueinu' cm tlic yellow beach; 
And Conrad I'liUowing, at licr beck, oliev'd, 
Nor cared he now if rescued or betray'c\ ; 
Resistance was as useless as if Seyd 
Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed. 

XIII. 

Embark'd, the sail unfuilM, the light breeze blew— 
How much had Conrad's memory to review ! 
Sunk he in Contemplation, till the cape 
Where last ho anclior'd rear'd its giant shape. 
Ah! — since that fatal night, though brief the tirae, 
Had swcjH an age of terror, ^I'icf, and crime. 
As its far shadow frown'd a'^ovc the masi. 
He veil'd his face, and sorrow'd as ne p.; s'd : 
He thought of all — Consalvo and his band, 
His Hecting triumph and his failing hand; 
He thought on her afar, his lone]y4)ride : 
He turn'd and saw — Ciulnarc, the homicide! 

XIV. 

She -watch'd his features till she could not bear 
Their freezing aspect and averted air. 
And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye, 
Fell (|ucnch'd in tears, too late to shed or dry. 
She knelt beside him and liis hand she prcss'd, 
"Thou may'st forgive though Allah's self detest; 
But for that deed of darkness what wert thou ? 
Reproach nic — but not yet — Oh ! spare me now! 
I am not what I seem — this fearful night 
Wy brain bewildcr'd — do not madden quite ! 
If I had never loved — though less mv guilt, 
Thou hadst not lived to — hate me — if thou wilt." 

XV. 

She wrongs his thoughts, they more himself upbraid 

Thau her, though uudesign'd, the wretch he made; 

But speechless all, deep, dark, and uncxpvest, 

They bleed within that silent cell — his breast. 

Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge, 

The blue waves sport around the stern they urge; 

Far on the horizon's verge appears a speck, 

A spot — a mast — a sail — an armed deck ! 

Their little bark her men of watch descry, 

hn([ ampler canvas woos the wind from high; 

She bears her down majestically near. 

Speed on her jn-ow, and terror in her tier; 

A flash is seen — the ball beyond their bow 

Boopis harmless, hissing to the deep below. 

Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance, 

A long, long absent gladness in his glance : 

" 'Tis mine — my blood-red Hag! again — again— 

I am not all deserted ou the main! " 



CANTO III.] THE CORSAIR. 37 

They own tlic si;i;nal, answer to the hail. 

Hoist out the l)Oiit at once, and shickcn sail. 

" 'Tis Coiu-ad ! Conrad ! " shoutin^j: from the deck, 

Command nor duty oonld tlicir transport check! 

"W'ilh liuiit alacrity and j^aze of pride, 

Tiicy view him mount once more lus vessel's side; 

A snulo rehixin;^' in each ru;^jicd face, 

Their arms can scarce forhcar a rou^li embrace. 

He, half forjrettinj;' dan<i-er and defeat, 

lieturns their ^reetin^r as a chief may ffrect, 

Wrinj;s with a cordial j^rasp AnseJnio's hand, 

And feels he yet can concjuer and connnand ! 

XVI. 

These {jrcetings o'er, the feelinps that o'erflow, 

Yet fjrieve to win him hack without a t)low; 

They sail'd prejjarcd for venji'eance — had they known 

A woman's hand secured that deed her own, 

She were their (pieen — less scrupulous are they 

Than liauy'hty Conrad how they win llieir way. 

With many an askin^^- smile, and wonderinj,'' stare, 

They whisper round, and gaze ujjon Gulnare ; 

Anil licr, at once aliove — i)eneath her sex. 

Whom blood appall'il not their regards perplex. 

To Com'ad turns her fa r imjilorinir ej'c. 

She drops her veil, and stands in silence by; 

Her arms are meekly folded on that breast. 

Which— Conrad safe — to fate resign'd the rest. 

Though worse than frenzy coidd that bosom fill, 

Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill. 

The worst of crimes had left her woman still ! 



This Conrad mark'd, and felt — ah ! could he less ? — 

Hate of that deed — l)ut grief for her distress; 

What she has done no tears can wash away, 

And Heaven must jiunisii on its angry day: 

But — it was done : he knew, what e'er her g'uilt, 

For him that ))oniard smote, that blood was spilt; 

And he was free! — and she for him had given 

Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven! 

And now he tui'u'd him to that dark-eyed slave. 

Whose brow was liow'd beneiLth the glance he gave, 

Who now seem'd changed and humbled : — faint and nicely 

l?ut varying oft the color of her check 

To deeper shades of paleness — idl its red 

That fearful spot which stain'd it from the dead ! 

He took that hand — it trembled — now loo late — 

So soft in love — so wildly nerved in hale ; 

He clasp'd that hand— it trcmliled — and liis own 

Had lost its firmness, and his voice its tone. 

" Gulnare ! " — but she replied not — " dear (inlnarc ! " 

She raised her eye — her onlv answer there — 

At once she sought and sunk in his embrace : 

If he had driven her from that resting-|)lace. 



§8 THE CORSAIR. [canto in 

His had been more or less than mortal heart, 
P.ut — ^ood or ill — it bade her not depart. 
Perchance, but for the l)odiiijrs of his breast, 
His latest virtue then had join'd the rest. 
Yet even Medora nii^ht for^^ive the kiss 
That ask'il from form so fair no more than this, 
The tirst, Ihe la^t tliat Frailty stole from Faith— 
To lips where Love had lavish'd all his breath, 
To lijis — whose l)r(iken sijihs such frajifrancc lling 
As he had fann'd them freshly with his wing ! 



They frain liy twilijiht's hour their lonely isle. 

To them the very rocks appear to smile ; 

The haven hums with many a cheerinji: sound. 

The beacons blaze their wonted stations round. 

The boats arc darting;- o'er the curly bay, 

And sportive dolphins bend them tlnou^h the spray; 

Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek 

Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak! 

Beneath each lamp that throu<jli4ts lattice fjleams, 

Their fancy ))aints the friends that trim the beams. 

Oh ! what can sanctify the joys of home. 

Like Hope's gay gianee frOni Oeean's troubled foam ! 



The lights are high on beacon and from bower, 

And 'midst them Conrad seeks Medoi-a's tower: 

He looks in vain — 'tis strange — and all remark. 

Amid so many, hers alone is dark. 

'Tis strange— of yore its welcome never fail'd. 

Nor now, perchance extinguish'd, only veil'd. 

With the first boat descends he to the shore. 

And looks impatient on the lingering oar. 

Oh for a wing beyond the falcon's flight, 

To bear him like an arrow to that height ! 

With the first pause the resting rowers gave, 

He waits not — looks not — leaps into the wave. 

Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high 

Ascends the path familiar to his eye. 

He reach'd his turret-door — he paused- — no sound 
Broke from within; and all was m'ght around. 
Ho knock'd, and loudly — footstep nor reply 
Announced that any heard or ileem'd hiui nigh; 
He knock'd — but faintly — for liis trembling hand 
Refused to aid his heavy heart's demand. 
The portal ojiens — 'tis a well-known face — 
But not the form he panted to embrace. 
Its lips are silent — twice his own essay'd, 
And fail'd to frame the question they delay'd; 
He snatch'd the lamp — its light will answer all — 
It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. 
He would not wait for that reviving ray — 
As soon eould he have linger'd there for day ; 



cjlStc (II ] THE CORSAIR. 39 

l$ut, n-limmcriu^- throuf^h the dusky conidor. 
Another chequers o'er the shadow'd floor; 
His steps the ehamher t,'':iin— his eyes behokl 
All that his heart believed not — yet ibretokl ! 

XX. 

He turn'd not — spoko not — sunk not — fix'd l>is look. 

And set the anxious lran)e that lately shook: 

He j,'azc<l— how Ion;; wo "jjaze ilespite of |)ain, 

And know, hut dare not own, we j^aze in vain! 

In lii'e itself she was so still and fair, 

That death with {.'■entler aspect witlier'd there; 

And tlie eold llowcrs her colder lianil conlaiu'd,* 

In that last j^rasp ius tentlerly were strainVl 

As if she scarcely felt, ijut feign'd a sleep. 

And made it almost mockery yet to weep : 

The long- dark laslies friii^ii'd licr lids of snow, 

And veil'd — thou^^lit shiinks from all tliat lurk'd below — 

Oh ! o'er the eye deatli most exerts his miLriit, 

Anil hurls the spirit from her tlirone of lijfht! 

Sinks those blue orbs in that lon^ last eclipse. 

But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips — 

Yet, yet they seem as they forbore to snnle, 

And wish'd repose — I)ut only for a wliile; 

But the white sliroud, and each extended tress, 

Lon<,' — fair — but sjiread in utter lifelessness, 

Which, late the sport of every summer wind, 

Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind ; 

These — and the pale pure cheek, became the bier — 

But she is nothiny— wherefore is he here ? 

XXI. 

lie ask'd no question — all were answer'd now 

By the first filancc on that still — marble brow. 

It was enouy:h — she died — what reck'd it how ? 

The love of youth, the hope of better years, 

The soin'cc of softest wishes, tcnderest fears, 

The only living tLin^'- he coidd not hate, 

\\'as reft at once — and he deserved his fate, 

But did not feel it less ; — the good explore, 

For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar: 

The proud — the wayward — who have fix'd below 

Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe. 

Lose in that one tiieir all — pei'chance a mite — 

But wlio in patience ))arls with all delight? 

Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern 

Mask hearts where grief liatli little left to learn; 

And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost, 

la smiles that least befit who wear tliem most. 

XXII. 

By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest 
The indistinctness of the suffering breast ; 

^ \> f^ t.ov<./it it Is the ciistdin to strew (l<i\vprs on tlic bodies of tlie dead, 
ai'U ! J i'-~ l.ai,u» of young persons to place a noseyay. 



40 THE CORSAIR. [caxto hi. 

■\Mierc thousand thoujrbts besin to end in one, 
Wliic'h seeks from all the rcfu<ro foiiad iu uouc ; 
No words suffice the secret soul t.) iliow. 
For Truth denies all eloquence <o V/oe. 
On Conrad's stricken soul c\lia.i:-tion prest, 
And stupor almost Inll'd it intj rest; 
So feeble now — bis mother's softness crept 
To tliose wild eyes, which like an intaut's wept : 
It was the very weakness of his brain, 
Which thus confcss'd without relievinif pain. 
Kone saw his tricklinir tears — perchance, if seen. 
That useless tiood of sriof had never been : 
iS'or lonu: they flow'd— be dried them to dejiart 
In helpless — liopelcss — brokenness of heart : 
The sun goes forth — but Conrad's day is dim ; 
And the nijrht cometh — ne'er to pass from him. 
There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, 
On I ii-icf's vain eye — the blindest of the blind ! 
"NVhicli may not— dare not see — but turns aside 
To blackest shade — nor will endure a guide ! 



His heart was forni'd for softness — wavp'd to w^eng; 

Bctray'd too early, and beguiled too lon^-; 

Each "feeling pure— as falls the dropping dew 

Within the grot; like that had harden'il too; 

Less clear, perchance, its earlldy trials pass'd, 

But sunk, and cliill'd, and ^ictritied at last. 

Yet temjiesls we;u-, and lightning cleaves the rock ; 

If such his heart, so shattcr'd it the shock. 

There grew one llower beneath its rugged In-ow, 

Though dark the shade— it sheltcr'd— saved tdl now- 

Tbe tJiunder came— that bolt hath blasted both, 

The tiranitc's firmness, and the Lily's growth: 

The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell 

Its tale, but shrunk and wilher'd where it fell; 

And of its cold protector, blacken round 

But shiver'd fragments on the barren ground! 

XXIV. 

'Tis morn — to venture on his lonely hour 

Few dare; though now Anselmo sought his tower. 

He was not there — nor seen along the shore; 

Ere night, alarm 'd, their isle is traversed o'er: 

Another morn — another bids them seek. 

And shout his name till echo waxcth weak; 

!Moiint — grotto — cavern — valley search'd in vain, 

They lind on shore a sea-boat's broken oiiain : 

Their hope revives — they follow o'er tbe main. 

'Tis idle all — moons roll on moons away, 

Anil Comttd comes not — came not since that day : 

Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare 

Where lives his grief, or pcrish'd his despair ! 

Long niourn'd his band whom none could mourn beside ; 

And fair the monument they gave his bride : 



CANTO iii.j THE CORSAIR. 41 

For liiin they raise not the rccofding: stone — 
His (liath \ '^ ihil)ious, ilocds too wiilcly known; 
111' U'l'l ;i Corsair's name to other times, 
Linii'il with quo virtue, and a thousand crimes.* 

• That tlio point of honor which is roprcsontod in one iiistanco of Conrad's 
chnraiU'i' has not iK'i'n carried beyond tlie bounds of probal)iUty, may i)crliaps 
be in some di'jjrroe conlinued by tlic following anecdote of a brotlier buccaneer 
in the year 1,SI4:— 

'• Our readers have all seen the account of the cntenirisc against the pirates 
of Han'ataria; but few, we believe, were informed of tlie situali<in, history, or 
nature of that estal)lishment. Kor tlie information of sucli as were unac- 
quainted witli it, wo have procured from a friend the followin.!,' interestin;; 
iiarralive of the main facts, of which he has personal knowledge, and whicli 
cannot fail to interest our readers: 

'•IJarrataria is a bay, or a narrow arm of the Oulf of Jloxico; it runs 
tlirouKh a rieli but very tlut comitry, initil it reaches within a mile oft!., 
Mississippi river, fifteen miles below tlie city of New Orleans. The bay has 
branches almost iniuiinerable, in wliicli persons can lie concealed from the 
severest scrutiny. It coiuiiuinicates with three lakes which lie on tlie soutli- 
west side, and tliese with tlio lake of thi' same name, and which lies contig- 
nous to the sea, wliere there is an island formed liy the two arms of this lake 
and the sea. The east and west points of lliis island were fortilied in tlie year 
ISll liv a liaiul of pirates, muter the command of one Monsieur La Kitte." A 
larj;e I'liajnrity of tliese (inlhius are of that class of the pupiilalidii of the state 
of l^oaisiaua who tied from the island of St. Doniintjo dllrin^' the tmuliles there, 
and took refuse in the island of Cuba; anil when the last war between l''r.iiice 
and .Spain conmienced, they were compelled to leave that island with the sliort 
notice of a few days. Without ceremony, they entered tlie I'nited States, 
the most of them the state of Louisiana, with all the negroes they bad pos- 
sessed in Cuba. They were notilled by the governor of that .state of tlie clause 
ill the Constitution wliieli lorhade the im|)ortation of slaves; but, at the same 
time, received the assurance of the governor that lie would obtain, if possible, 
the aiMirobatinn of the general goveniiiient for their retaining this proiiertv. 

"The island of I'.arrataria is situated alioul lat. ■_'!• (leg. l-"i niin., long. 02 
deg. :!o mill., and is as remarkable lor its health as for the superior scale and 
sliell fish with which its waters aboimd. The chief of tins horde, like Charles 
de Moor, had mi.\ed with his many vices some virtues. In the year IHlo, this 
party had, from its turiiitiuie and boldness, claimed the attention of the 
governor of Louisiana; and, to lireak up the establishment, he thought in'o|ier 
to strike at the head. He therefore otl'ered a rewanl of .'iini dullars for the 
head of Jlonsieiir La Kitte, who was well known to tli<> iuhabitanls of tlie city 
of New Orleans, frmii his immediate connection, and his once having been a 
fencing-master in the city, of great reputation, whieli art he U'ariied in lUmna- 
parle's army, where lie was a captain. The reward whiih was ollered by the 
governor for the head of La Fitte was answered by the oiler of a reward from 
the latter of I.'i,(ii)h dollars for the head of the governor. The governor ordered 
out a company to march from the city to La Fitle's island, and to burn and 
destro.v all the property, and to bring" to the city of New Orleans all his ban- 
ditti. This company, "under the command of li man who had been the inti- 
mate associate of this hold captain, approached very near to the fortilied 
island before lie saw a man, or hearl a sound, until tie heard a whistle, not 
unlike a boatswain's call. Then it was he toiind hinisi'lf surroinided by armed 
men. who had emerged from the secret avenues whieli led into r.ayini. Here 
it was Iliat the luddern Charles de Jloor developed his few noble traits; for to 
this man, who had come to destroy his life and all that was dear to him. he 
not only spared bis life, but otl'ered him that which would have made the 
honest soldier easy for the remainder of his days, which was indignantly re- 
fused. He then, with tlie approbation of his captor, returned to the city. 
This circumstance, and some concomitant events, proved that this baud of 
pirates was not to he taken by land. Onr naval force having alway.-. Iii'en small 
in that quarter, exertions for" the destruction of this illicit establishment could 
not be expected from them until augmented: for an officer of the navy, with 
most of the gunboats on that statinn, had to n'treat from an overwhelniing 
force of La Fitte's. .So soon as tlu' aiiguieiitation of the navy aulhori/.ed an at- 
tack, one was made; and, now Ibis aiiiiost invulnerable point and key to New 
Orleans is clear of an enemy, it is to tie lioped the government w ill hold it by a 
strong military force." — From an American Newspaper. 

In Noble's continuation of " Granger's Hiographical Dictionary," there Is a 
singular passage in his account of Archbishop I'.laekbounie; and as in some 



42 THE CORSAIR. [canto m. 

monsiire connocfcd with the profession of tli« hero of the foregoing poem, I can- 
not resist tlic temptation olexlraoting it : — 

" There is something' mysterious in tlie history and character of Dr. Rlacli- 
bourne. The Ibrnicr is t)ut impertVclly l<nown: and report has even as- 
sertoii ho was a liiK-caneor; and tliat one of Ids lu'etliren in tliat profession 
liavinn asl;ed, on Ids arrival in Eiitrland. wliat had become of Ids old eliiun 
IMaeUboMrne, was answered, lie is Arehiiisliop of Vnrk. We are iidornied that 
HIackhonrne was installed siih-doan of Exeter in 1G1I4, whieli uiliee he resigned 
in 170".'; but after his successor Lewis Itarnet's death, in 17W, lie regained it. 
In the following year he became dean; and, in 1714, held with it the arcli- 
deanery of I'ornwall- He was consecrated Bishop of E.\eter, Eehrnary '24, 
171(!: aiul translated to York, November 28, 1724, as a reward, according to 
court scandal, tor nniting (;corge I. to the Duchess of Mniister. This, how- 
ever, appears to have been an unfounded calumny.' As archbl.shop he behaved 
with great pnulence, and was equally respectable as the guardian of the re- 
venues of the sec. Itnnior whispered he retained the vices of his yciuth, and 
that a passion for the fair sex formeil an item iu the list of his weaknesses; 
but so far fVom being conviiteil by seventy witnesses, he does not appear to 
liave been directly eriiiiiiiated tiy one. In short, I look upon these aspersious 
as the etVeets of mere malice. How is it iiossible a buccaneer sliotild have been 
so good a sclicihcr as l!laekbonriic certainly was? He who had .so perfect a 
knowledge of the classics, (particularly of the Creek tragedians,) as to be .able 
to read tliem with the same ease as he could Shakspeare, must have taken 
great pains to aciinire the learned languages, and have had liolh leisure and 
good masters. Hut he was undoubtedly educated at Christ Church College, 
Oxford. He is allowed to have been a pleasant man: this, however, was 
turned against him, by its being said, ' he gaincd-aiore hearts than souls." " 

" The only voice that could soothe the passions of the savage (Alphonso III.) 
was that of an amiable and virtuous wife, the sole object of his love: the voice 
of Donna Isabella, the daughter of the Duke of .Savoy, and the graiid-danglil('r 
of I'hillp II., king of Spain. Her dy'ng words sunk deep into his nuniory: 
his tierce spirit melted into tears: and alter the last embrace, .Vlphoiiso re- 
tired into his chamber to bewail his irreparable loss, and to meditate on the 
vanity of human life." — I'iiceilaiieotis Works of Gibbon, new edit., Svu. vol. 
iii. p. 473. 



lara; 



CANTO THE FIRST. 



The Serfs arc plad throii<j:;li Lara's wide domain,f 

Aiul slavery liidl' lbrfj;ets licr feudal chain; 

lie, their unhoped, l)iil iinfor'^'otten lord — 

The loiv^ self-exih'd chieftain is restored : 

There be hri;4lil faces in the busy liall, 

IJowls on the l)oard, and lianners on the wall; 

Far checjuerin;^ o'er the pii'lured window, plan's 

The unwonted fa;j^ots' hospitable l)laze ; 

Ami nay retainers gather round tlic hearth. 

With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth, 

II. 

The chief of T>ara is rcturn'd .again : 
And wliy had Lara cross'd the bounding main ? 
Left by his sire, too young sucii loss to know, 
Lonl of himself; — that heritage of woe. 
That fearfid enii)irc which the human i)rcast 
But holds to rob the heart within of rest! — 
With none to check, and few to point in time 
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime; 
Then, when he most required connnandment, tlion 
Had Lara's daring boyhood govcrn'd men. 
It skills not, boots not, step by step to trace 
His youth througii all the nuizes of its race; 
Short was the course iiis restlessness had run, 
But long enough to leave him half undone. 

III. 

And T^ara left in youth his fatherland ; 

But from the hour he waved his parting hand 

* The reader of" Lara " may prnbably regard it ns a scqiml to a poem that ro- 
cently appeared:* whether the east of the hem's chaiaitei', tlie turn ul hit 
adveiiturcs, and the peiieral outUiie and colorhiK of Uiu story, may not en- 
coura(,'e such a suppositi<>ii, sliall ho left to liis dctci'miiiatioii. 

t The reader is advci-lisc<i that tlu^ luiiiii' only of I^ara bcint; Spanish, and 
no cireumstanco of local or national dcsoription ilxin;,' the scone or hero of the 
poem to any country or »(,■(•, ttie word "Serf," winch could not he correctly 
applied to the lower classes in .Spain, who were never vassals of the soil, has 
nevertheless been employed to designate the followers of our flctitious cliief- 
tuiu. 

• " The CortaiK." '13 



44 LARA. [cAOT-o I. 

Each trace -wax'd fainter of hi^ coui-sc, till all 
Had nearly ceased liis memory to recall. 
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare, 
"Twas all they knew, that l^ara was not there; 
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture gvcw 
Cold in the many, anxious in tlie few. 
His hall I -^arcc echoes with his wonted name, 
His portrait darkens in its fadintr frame. 
Another chief consoled his destined bride, 
The youu','- lorpot him, and the old had died; 
" Yet dotli he live ! " exclaims the impatient heir, 
And siuhs for sables which he must not wear. 
A hundred scutcheons deck with s'loomy grace 
The Laras' last and )onge-it dwelling-place; 
But one is al)sent from the mouldering tile, 
That now were welcome to th:it CJothic pile. 



He comes at last in sudden loneliness. 

And whci:ce they know not, why they need not guess 5 

They more miglit marvel, when tlic greeting 's o'er, 

Kotthat he came, but came not long before : 

Ko train is his beyond a single page, 

Of foreign aspect and of tender age. 

Years had roH'd on, and fast they speed away 

To tluise that wander as to those that stay ; 

But lack of tidings from another clime 

Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time. 

They sec, thej- recognize, yet almost deem 

The' present dubious, or the past a dream. 

He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime, 
Though scar'd by toil, and something touch'd by time 5 
His faidts, whatc'cr tiic}' were, if scarce forgot, 
]\Iight lie untaught him by his varied lot; 
Kor good nor ill of late were known, his name 
Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame. 
His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins 
No more than pleasure from the stripling wins; 
And such, if not yet harden'd in their course, 
Might be redecm'd, nor ask a long remorse. 

V. 

And they indeed were changed — 'tis qtiickly seen, 
Whatc'cr he be, 'twas not what he had been: 
That l>row in furrow'd lines had tix'tl at last, 
And spake of passions, but of passion past ; 
The pride, but not the fire, of early days. 
Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise; 
A high demeanor, and a glance that toolc 
Their thoughts from others by a single look; 
And that sarcastic levity of tonu'ue, 
The stinging of a heart the woi-ld hath stung, 
That darts in seeming playfulness around. 
And makes those feel that will not own the wound : 
All these seeni'd hi>, and something more beneath 
Than glance could well reveal, or accent breathe. 



CAN-TO I.] LARA. 45 

Anilntion, fvloiy, love, the common aim 
That some can conquer, and tliat all would claim, 
Within his breast appear'd no more to strive, 
Yet scem'd as lately they had been alive; 
And sonic deep reeling it were vain to trace 
At moments lii;hlen'd o'er his livid lace. 



Not much he loved lon<j question of the past, 
Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast. 
In those far lands where he had wander'd lone. 
And — as himself would have it seem — uiiknowr 
Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan, 
Nor j^lean experience iVom his fellow man; 
liut what he hail beheld he shiinn'd to show. 
As hardly worth a stran^;ei-'s care to know; 
If still more pryin;;' sucli inquiry <j:rcw, 
llis brow fell darker, and his words more few. 



Not imrejoiccd to sec him once an:ain. 
Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men; 
Born of liiLrh linea^ze, liiik'd in hi^'h command, 
He minulcd witii the ma;4-natcs of his land; 
Join'd the carousals of the fjrcat and g'ay, 
And saw them smile or sij;h their hours away; 
But still he only saw, ami aid not share 
The common pleasure or the fieneral care ; 
He did not follow what they all pursued, 
With hope still baffled, stili to be renew'd ; 
Nor shadowy honor, nor substantial jjain. 
Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain: 
Around huu some mysterious circle tiirown 
Ilcpell'd approach, and show'd him still alone; 
Upon his eye sate somctliinji: of rci^roof. 
That kept at least frivolity aloof; 
And things more timid that beheld him near. 
In silence j;'azed, orwhispcr'd mutual fear; 
And they tlie wiser, friendlier few confess'd 
They deeui'd him better than his air exprcss'd. 



'Twas strann'c — in youth all action and all life, 
Burning: for pleasure, not averse from strife ; 
Woman — the field — the ocean — all that gave 
Promise of gladness, peril of a grave, 
In turn he tried — he I'ansack'd all below. 
And found his recompense in joy or woe, 
No tame, trite medium; for his feelings soughi 
In that intenscness an escape from thought ; 
The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed 
On that the feci)ler clenunits hntli raised ; 
The rapture of his heart had look'd on high. 
And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky : 



46 LARA. [canto t 

Chain'tl to excess, the slave of each extreme, 
How woke he from the wildness of that cU-eam ? 
Aias ! he told not — but he did awake 
To curse the wither'd heart that would not break. 



Books., for '.-.is volume heretofore was Man, 

WitL eye niore curious he appear'd to scan, 

And oft, in sudden mood, for many a day 

From all communion he would start away : 

And then, his rarely call'd attendants said, 

Through night's long hours would sound his hun-ied treaO 

O'er the dark gallc'r\-, where his fathers frown'd 

In rude but antique portraiture around. 

They heard, l)ut whispcr'd — " t/utt must not be known — 

The sound of words less eartldy than his own. 

Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had seen 

They scarce knew what, but more than should have been. 

Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head 

Which hands profane had ga.tlicrUl from the dead, 

That still beside his open'd volume lay, 

As if to startle all save liini away ? 

Why slept he not when others were at rest ? 

Why heard no music, and i-cceivcd no guest ? 

All was not weil, they deem'd — but where the wrong ? 

Some knew pcrcthance — but 'twere a tale too long; 

And such liesidcs were too discreetly wise. 

To more than liiut their knowledge in surmise; 

But if they would — they could " — around the board. 

Thus Lara's vassals prattled of their lord. 



It was the night — and Lara's glassy stream 

The stars are studding, each with imaged beam: 

So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray. 

And yet they glide like happiness away ; 

Rcllccting far and fairy-like from high 

The immortal lights that live along the sky: 

Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree, 

And llowers tlic fairest that may feast the bee; 

Such in her chaplct infant Dian wove, 

And Innocence would otfcr to her love. 

These deck the shore ; the waves then- channel make 

In windings bright and mazy like the snake. 

All \vas so still, so soft in earth and air. 

You scarce would start to meet a spirit there; 

Secure that nought of evil could delight 

To walk in such a scene, on sucli a night ! 

It was a moment only for the good : 

So Lara deem'd, nor longer there he stood, 

But turn'd in silence to his castle-gate ; 

Such scene his soul no more could contemplate : 

Such scene reminded him of other days. 

Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze. 



CA>rTO I.] LARA. ^-j 

Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now — 
No — no — tlic stonu may beat upon his hrow, 
Unfo.h — uusparinu- — but a niglit like this, 
A night of beauty mock'tl such breast as his. 

xr. 

He turn\l within his solitary hall, 
And his liiyh shadow shot along the wall; 
There were the painted forms of other times, 
'Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes, 
Save vaji'ue tradition ; aud the gloomy vaults 
That hid their dust, their foibles, and" their faults; 
And half a column of the pompous page. 
That speeds the specious talc from age to age : 
When history's pen its praise or blame supplies, 
And lies like truth, and still most trulj- lies. 
He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone 
Thl'ough the dim lattice o'er the floor of stone. 
And the higli fretted roof, and saints, that there 
O'er Gothic windows knelt ia pictured prayer, 
Reflected in fantastic figures grew, 
Like life, but not like mortal life, to view; 
His bristling locks of sal)lc, brow of gloom. 
And the wide waving of his shaken plume. 
Glanced like a spectre's attrilnites, and gave 
His aspect all that terror gives the grave. 

XII. 

'Twas midnight — all was slumber; the lone light 
Dimm'd in tlie lamp, as loth to break the night. 
Hark', there be mmnnurs heard in l^ara's hall — 
A sound — a voice — a shriei< — a fearful call ! 
A long, loud shriek — and silence — did they hear 
That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear ? 
They heard and I'osc, and tremulously brave 
Rushed where the sound invoked their aiil to save; 
They come with half-lit tapers in their bands, 
And snatch'd in startled haste unbelted brands. 

XIII. 

Cold as the marble where his length was laid. 

Pale as the licani that o'er his features play'd, 

^Yas Lara stretch'd ; his half-drawn sabre near, 

Dropp'd it should seem in more than nature's fearj' 

Yet he was lirui, or had been firm till now, 

And still defiance knit his gather'd brow; 

Tliough mix'd with terror, senseless as he lay, 

There lived upon his lip the wish to slaj' ; 

Some half-forni'd threat in utterance there had died. 

Some imprecation of tlespairing pride ; 

His eye was almost seal'd, imt not forsook 

Even in its trance the gladiator's look. 

That oft awake his aspect could disclose. 

And now was fix'd in horriiile repose. 

The}' raise him — bear him : hush! he breathes, he speaks. 

The swarthy blush rccolors in his cheeks, 



48 LARA. [canto I 

His lip resume* its rod, liis ere, thoush dim, 
HoUs widi' and wild, ^'M^h slowly quivering' limb 
liecidls its I'liiicliou, hut Ids words arc struuj:i; 
In terms that sceiu not ol' his native tonjjiio; 
Distinct l)Ut strauj^e, onoii^h they understand 
To deem them at'eenls oC another laml. 
And sueh they were, and meant to meet iin car 
That hears him not — alas ! that cannot hear ! 

XIV. 

His i>aj;e apjiroaeli'd, and he alone nppcar'd 
To know the import oi' the words they heard; 
And l)V the ehan>;es of his cheek and hrow 
They were not such as Lara should avow, 
Kor he intcrjtret, yet with less surprise 
Tiian those around their chiel'tain's state ho eyes, 
Hut Lara's jii'osti'ate i'orm he bent beside. 
Anil in that tongue which seem'd his own replied, 
And Lara heeds tlK)se tones that •:ently seem 
To soothe away the horrors of his dream ; 
ll dream it were, that thus eould-overthrow 
A breast that needetl not ideal woe. 

XV. 

M'hate'er his frenzy dream'd or eye beheld. 
If yet rememher'd ne'er to be reveal'd. 
Hosts at his heart : the eustom'd morninii' came, 
Aiul breathed new vi;,for m his shaking' frame; 
And solace souj;ht he none from priest nor leeeh, 
And soon the same m movement and in speech 
As heretofore he till'd the passim^' hours, 
Nor less he smiles, nor more his foreheail lours 
Than these were wont; and if the cominj^' night 
Appear'd less welcome now to Lara's si;,^!!. 
He to his marvellimi' vassals ^show'd it not, 
^Vhose shiKKU-rin;:' proved t/ii'ir fear was less forgot. 
Ll trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl 
The astonisli'd slaves, and shun the fated hall; 
The waving banner, anil the clapping dom-; 
The rustling tapestry, and the echoing lloor; 
The long dim shadows of .surrounding trees, 
The llap|iing bat, the night song of the breeze; 
Aught they behold or hear their thought appalls 
As evening saddens o'er tlie dark gray walls. 

XVI. 

Vain thought ' that hour of ne'er unravell'd gloom 

Came not again, or Lara could assume 

A seeming of forgetful ness that made 

His vassals more ama/cd nor less afraid — 

Had memory vauisli'd then with sense restored? 

Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord 

Betray'd a feeling that recall'd to these 

That fevcr'd nu)meiit of his mind's disease. 

Was it a dream ? was his the voice that spoke 

Those strange wild accents; his the er\- that broke 



CANTO I.] LARA. 4S 

Thciv slumber ? his tlic opprossM oVvlaV.orM hoiiit 
Tliiit ccM^od to Ik'iiI, the loi>l< that made tlioLu stint r 
Could lu' who thus liad sullVr'd, so Ibrtret 
When such as saw that sutVurin^ shudder yet ? 
Or did that sileuce prove his inoiuory iixM 
Too deep lor words, iudclihlc, uiimixM 
In tliat coiTodiiijj: secrecy which jitiaws 
The heiirt to show the cttcet, but not the cause ? 
Not so in him ; his breast had buried botli, 
Nor eonnuon f^^azers could discern the growth 
Of thoufi'hls that inortid lips nuist leave half told ; 
They choke the fecl)lc words that would uufold. 

XVII. 

In him incxplicablv mixM appear'd 

Mucii to 1)0 loved and hated, soujiht and fear d; 

Opinion varyiuyr o'er his hidden lot, 

In praise or'railiu^'- ne'er his name forsot ; 

His silence form'd a tlicmo for otiiers' prate— , . - ^ 

They truess'd— they grazed— they lam would kn. w his late. 

What had he iieon"? what was lie, thus unknow i, 

Wlio walk'd their world, his lineafj;e only known ? 

A hater of his kind ? yet some would say, 

With tlieui he could seem jjay amidst the <ray; 

But own'd that smile, if oft ol)served and neir. 

Waned in its mirth and wither'd to a sneer; 

That smile mif,d>t reach his lip, but iiass'd n(,t by, 

None e'er could trace its lau^jhter to his eye . 

Yet there was softness too in his re;,^ard, 

At times, a lieart us not liy nature hard. 

But once perceived, his spirit secm'd to chide 

Such weakness, as uuwortliy of its pride, 

And stcel'd itself, as scoruintr to redeem 

One doubt from others' half withhekl esteem; 

In sclf-intlicted penance of a breast 

Which tenderness mi^^ht once have wrunj? from rest; 

In vi^nlanee of «rief that would compel 

The soul to hate for haviuj,^ loved too well. 



There was in him a vital scorn of all : 
As if the worst ha<l fall'u which could befall, 
He stood a stran^^<;r in this breathin<r world, 
An erring'- spirit from another hurled ; 
A tiling of dark imaj^dniuf^'s, that shaped 
By choice the perils he by chance escaped ; 
But 'scaped in vain, for in their memory yet 
His mind woidd half exult and half re^n-et : 
With more capacity for love than earth 
Bestows on most of nu)rtal mould and birth, 
His early dreams of ;:ood outstripp'd the tnith, 
An<l troid>lcd mar.hood foll(>w'<l l)amcd youth; 
With thoutrht of ve;.rs in iihaiiloui chase uusspcnt, 
And wasted powers fur belter purpose lent; 
4 



j^J LARA. [canto l 

And ficiy passions that had ponr'd their wrath 

In liurried desolation o'er liis piitli, 

And left the better feehngs all at strife 

In wild retlcction o'er his stormy life; 

But liauo-hty still, and loth himself to blame, 

He call'd on Nature's self to share the shame, 

And charged all faults upon the fleshly form 

She gave to clog the soul, and feast the worm; 

Till he at last confounded good and ill, 

And half mistook for fate the acts of will : 

Too high for common selfishness, he could 

At times resign his own for others' good, 

But not in pity, not because he ought, 

But in some strange perversity of thought, 

That sway'd him onwanl with a secret pride 

To do what few or none would do beside ; 

And this same impulse would, in tempting time. 

Mislead his spirit equally to crime ; 

So much he soar'd beyond, or sunk beneath 

The men with whom he felt condcmn'd to breathe, 

And long'tl by good or ill to separate 

Himself from" all who shared his mortal state ; 

His mind abhorring this had fix'd her throne 

Far from the world, in regions of her own; 

Thus coldly passing all that pass'd below, 

His blood in temperate seeming now would flow: 

Ah ! happier if it ne'er with guilt had glow'd. 

But ever in that icy smoothness tiow'd : 

'Tis true, witli other men their path he walk'd, 

And like the rest in seeaiing did and talk'd, 

Nor outraged Reason's rules by flaw nor start, 

His madress was not of the head, but heart; 

And rarely wander'd in his speech, or drew 

His thoug"hts so forth as to otfcud the view. 



With all that chilling mysteiy of mien. 
And seeming gladness to remain unseen; 
He had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art 
Of fixing memory on another's heart : 
It was not love, perchance — nor hate — nor aught 
That words can image to express the thought ; 
But tiiey who saw him did not see in vain, 
And once beheld, would ask of him again : 
And those to whom he spake remembcr'd well. 
And on the words, however light, would dwell : 
None knew nor how, nor why, but he entwined 
Himself perforce around the hearer's mind; 
There he M'as stamp'd, in liking, or in hate, 
If greeted once ; however brief the date 
That friendship, pity, or aversion knew. 
Still there within the inmost thov.ght he grew. 
You could not penetrate his soul, but found, 
Duspitc your wonder, to your own he w'>uud; 



CANTO I.J LARA. 51 

Ilis presence haunted still; and from the breast 
He forced an all-unwilling' interest; 
Vain was the struggle in that mental net, 
liis spirit sccm'd to dare you to forget ! 



There is a festival, where knights and dames, 
And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims, 
Appear — a high-born and a welcomed guest 
To Otho's hall came I^ara with the rest. 
The long' carousal shakes the illumined hall, 
Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball; 
And the g:ay dance of bounding Beauty's train 
Links g'race and harmony in happiest chain : 
Blest are the early hearts and gentle hands 
That mingle there in well according' bands ; 
It is a sight the careful brow might smooth, 
And make Age smile, and dream itself to youth, 
And Youth forget such hour was pass'd on earth, 
So springs the exulting bosom to that mirth 1 



And Lara gazed on these scdatelj' glad, 

His lirow liclicd him if his sotd was sad, 

And his glance foUow'd fast each lluttcring fair, 

Whose steps of lightness woke no echo there ; 

He lean'd against the lofty pillar nigh 

With folded arms and long attentive eye. 

Nor mark'd a glance so sternly fixVI on his, 

111 brook'd high Lara scrutiny like this : 

At length he caught it, 'tis a face unknown. 

But seems as searching his, and his alone ; 

Prying and dark, a stranger's by his mien. 

Who still till now had gazed on him unseen ; 

At length encountd-ing meets the mutual gaze 

Of keen inquiry, and of mute amaze; 

On Lara's glance emotion gathering grew, 

As if distrusting that the stranger threw; 

Along the stranger's aspect fi.v'd and stern 

Flash'd more than thence the vulgar eye could learn. 



" 'Tis he ! " the stranger cried, and those that heard 

Ee-ccho'd fast and far the whispcr'd word. 

" 'Tis he ! " — " 'Tis who ? " they question far and near, 

Till louder accents rung on Lara's ear ; 

So widely spread, few bosoms ^vell could brook 

The general marvel, or that single look; 

But Lara stirr'd not, changed not, the surprise 

That sjn'ung at first to his arrested eyes 

Sccm'd now subsided, neither sunk nor raised 

Glanced his e3'c round, though still the stranger gazed; 

And drawing nigh, cxclaim'd, with haughty sneer, 

" 'Tis he ! — how came he thence ? — what doth he here ? " 



52 LARA. [canto I 



It were too much for Lara to pass by 

Sucli question, so repeated fierec ami Iiiu'li ; 

"VVitli look colleeteil, but with aeeent eold, 

iMore iniUlly tinu than petulantly bold, 

He turn'd, and met the inquisitorial tone — 

" ]Mv name is l^ara! — when thine own is known, 

Dou1>t not my fittinjj answer to requite 

The nnlook'cl for courtesy of sueh a kni;,dit. 

'Tis Lara ! — further wouldst thou mark or ask ? 

I shun no question, and I wear no mask." 

" Thou shunn'st no questiiiu ! Pondei- — is there noni' 

Thy heart must answer, thouprh thine ear would shuu ^ 

And decui'st thou me unknown too ? (Jaze again! 

At least thy memory was not given in vain. 

Oh ! never" canst thou cancel half her debt, 

Eternity forbids thee to forget." 

"With slow and searching glance upon his foce 

Grew Lara's eyes, Init nothing tlijyc could trace 

Thev knew, or chose to know — with dubious look 

lie ileign'd no answer, but his head he shook. 

And half contemptuous turn'd to pass away ; 

But the stern stranger motion'd him to stay. 

'*A word! — I charge thee stay, and answer here 

To one, ^\•ho, wert thou noble, were thy peer, 

But as thou wast and art — nay, frown not, lord, 

If false, 'tis easy to disprove the word — 

But as thou wast and art, on thee looks down. 

Distrusts thy smiles, but shakes not at thy frown. 

Art thou not he ? whose deeds — " 

" Whate'er I be, 
Words wild as these, accusers like to thee, 
I list no further ; those with whom they weigh 
INIay hear the rest, nor venture to gainsay 
Tlie wondrous talc no douiU thy tongue can tell, 
"Which thus JK'gius so courteously and well. 
Let Olbo cherish here his polish'd guest, 
To him my thanks and thoughts shall be exprcss'd.'' 
And here their wondering host hath interposed — 
" Whate'er there be iietwecn you undisclosed. 
This is no time nor iitling jilace to mar 
The mirthful meeting with a wordy war. 
If thou, Sir Ezzelin, hast aught to show 
Which it befits Count Lara's car to know. 
To-morrow, here, or elsewhere, as may best 
Beseem your mutual judgment, speak the rest; 
I pledge myself for thee, as not unknown, 
Though, like Count Lara, now return'd alone 
From otlier lands, almost a stranger grown; 
And if from Lara's l)lood and gentle liirtli 
I augur right of courage and of worth, 
He will not that untainted line belie, 
Kor aught that knighthood may accord deny." 
" To-morrow be it," PIzzelin replied, 
*' And here our several worth and truth be tried ; 



CANTO i.j LARA. 53 

I ixagc ray life, my falcliion to fittest 

My words, so may I niin^de with the blest! " 

What answers Lara ? to its centre shrunk 

His son], ill deep abstraction sudden sunk; 

The words of many, and the eyes of all 

Tliat there were fj'atlier'd, seem'd on him to fall; 

But his were silent, his appear'd to stray 

In far forfrctfulness away — away — 

Alas ! that heedlessness of all around 

Bespoke remembrance only too profound. 



" To-morrow ! — ay, to-morrow ! " further word 

Than those repeated none from Lara heard ; 

Upon his brow no outward passion spoke, 

From his larg'c eye no llashinii' anjicr broke; 

Yet there was somethinj,'' fix'd in that low tone 

"Which sliow'd resolve, determined, thou^^h unknown. 

He seized his cloak — his head he slii,'-htly bow'd, 

And passings Ezzelin he left the crowd ; 

And, as he pass'd him, smiling- met the frown 

With which that chieftain's brow would bear liiin down 

It was nor smile of mirth, nor struu'giinji' ]iride 

Tliat curbs to scorn tiie wrath it cannot hide; 

But that of one in his own heart secure 

Of all that he would do, or could endure, 

C'ould this mean peace ? the calmness of the good ? 

Or guilt grown old in desperate hardihood .' 

Alas ! too like in confidence arc each 

For man to trust to mortal look or speech ; 

From deeds, and deeds alone, may he discern 

Truths which it wrings the unpractised heart to learn. 

XXV. 

And Lara call'd his page, and went his way — 
Well could that stripling word or sign obey : 
Plis only follower from those climes afar 
Where the soul glows beneath a brighter star; 
For Lara left the shore from Avhcnce he sprung, 
In duty patient, and sedate though young; 
Silent as him he served, his late appears 
Above his station, and beyond his years. 
Though not unknown the tongue of Lara's land, 
In such from him he rarely heard command; 
But Hcet his step, and clear his tones would come, 
\Mien Lara's lip breathed forth the words of home : 
Those accents, as his native mountains dear, 
Awake their al>sent echoes in his ear. 
Friends', kindreds', parents', wonted voice recall, 
Now lost, abjured, for one — his friend, his all : 
For him earth now disclosed no other guide ; 
What marvel then he rarely left his side ? 

XXVI. 

Light was his form, and darkly delicate 
That brow whereon his native sun had sate. 



,f)4 LARA. [canto t 

Rut hail not innrr'd, lhoii);li in liis l)c:inis lie i;rew, 

'J'lic clu'fk wliiTC ofl tlic iinhiildcii hlusli slmno tliroiijih ; 

Yi^t nol such Mush as uiounts wlion health woukl show 

All the honrl's hue in that deli-ihtcd yiow ; 

liut 'twas II heetic tint of secret rare 

That ;'or a hurnin;;' moment f'evcr'd there ; 

And the wild spaiUli' dl" iiis eye seeni'd eaufiht 

From hi^ii, ah-,1 li;;hten'd witli eleetrie thou^;'ht, 

Though its black orb those lon^;- low lashes' Iringe 

Had teniiier'd with a nielancholy tinge; 

Yet less of sorrow than of i)riilc was there, 

Or, if 'twere f;rief, a <;rief that none should share : 

And pleasetl not him the sports that please ins ayo. 

The tricks of youth, tiie frolics of the paj^e ; 

For hours on Lara, he would fix his j^lance, 

As all-forj;'olten in that watcid'ul trance; 

And from Ids chief witlnh'awn, he wanelcr'd lone^ 

Brief were his answers, and his questions none; 

His walk the wood, his sport some foreign book; 

His restiuu'-placc the bank that curbs the brooic: 

He seeiu'd, like him he served, to4fvc ajiart 

From all that luri's the eve, and fills the heart; 

To know no brolherbood, ami take iVom jartli 

No gift beyond tliat bitter boou — our birth. 

XXVII. 

If aught he loved, 'twas Lara; but was shown 

His faith in revcreni'e and in ileetls alone; 

In mute attention; and his care, which guess'd 

Each wish, fulilH'd it ere the tongue e.xpress'il. 

Still there was haughtiness in all he did, 

A spirit deep that brook'd not to he chid; 

His zeal, though luoie than that of servile luuuls, 

In act alone t)bevs, his air eonnnands ; 

As if 'twas Lara's less tlian his desire 

That thus he served, but surely not for hire. 

Slight were the tasks enjoin'd him by his lord, 

To hold the stirrup, or to bear the sword ; 

To tunc his lute, or, if he will'd it more. 

On tomes of other tinu's and touu'ues to pore; 

But ne'er to mingle with the menial train, 

To ■whom he show'd not deference nor disilain. 

But that well-worn reserve which i)ro\ ed he knew 

No sympathy with that familiar crow : 

His soul, wbate'er his station or his stem, 

Could bow to Lara, not descend to them. 

Of higher birth he seem'd, and better days, 

Nor nuu'k of vtdgar toil that hand betrays. 

So femininely white it i.iight bespeak 

Another sex, when mateli'd with that smooth check, 

But for his garb, and something in his gaze. 

More wild and high than wonuin's eye betrays; 

A latent iierceuess that far more became 

His iierv climate than his tender frame: 

True, in his worils it broke not from his breast, 

But from his aspect might l)e more than gucsa'd. 



CANTO I.J LARA. 55 

Kalcil liis name, tlioiif,'-li rumor said lie liorc 
Another ere he left his iiioiiutaiii shore; 
For soinotiiiK's he would heur, however ni^Ii, 
That name ivpeated loud vvitliout reply, 
As uiilaiiiilia.r, or, if i-oiised a^ain, 
Start to the sound, as hut remeinbcr'd then; 
Unless 'twas Lara's wonted voiee that sijalic. 
For then, ear, eyes, ami heart would all awake. 

xxvni. 
He had look'd down upon the festive hall, 
And mark'tl that sudden strife so mark'd of all; 
And when tlie erowd around and near him told 
Their wonder at the cahuiiess of tJie bold, 
Their marvel how the hi^h-horn Lara bore 
Sueh insult from a straii^^er, doul)ly sore, 
The color of youiv^ Kalcd went anil came, 
The lip of ashes, and the check of ilame ; 
And o'er his l)row the danipenin^' heart-drops threw 
The sickenin^r ieincss of that cold dew 
That rises as the busy bosom sinks 
With heavy thoujihts from which reflection shrinks. 
Yes — there bo thin^^s which we must dreuni and darj. 
And execute ere thoujiht be half aware : 
Whatc'cr mijiht Kideil's he, it was enow 
To seal his lij), l>ut a^^-onizc his i)row. 
He pazed on Ezzelin till Lara cast 
That sideloiiji' smile upon the kni>jht he pass'd; 
When Kaled saw that smile his visaj^e fell, 
As if on somcthinfi' recoy:nizcd rif^ht well : 
His memory read in such a uieaninj^ more 
Than Lara's aspect unto others wore. 
Forward he sprun;? — a moment, both were g'ona. 
And all within that liall sccm'd left alone; 
Each had so fix'd his eye on Ijura's mien, 
All had so mix'd their feelinjis with tliat scene. 
That when his lonj^' dark shadow throu;^'h the j/oixih 
No more relieves the fjlure of you hiyh torch, 
Each pulse Jje.ats quicker, and all bosoms seem 
To hound as doubtintr from too black a di'eam, 
Such as we know is false, yet dread in sooth. 
Because the worst is ever neai-est truth. 
And they are f^one — but Ezzelin is there. 
With tlioufrhtful visage and iiii])crious air; 
l?ut Ioiijj: remain'd not; ere an hour expired 
He waved his hand to Otho, and retired. 

XXIX. 

The crowd arc gone, the revellers at rest ; 
The courteous host, and all-approving' finest, 
Affain to tliat accustoni'd couch must creep 
Where J03' sul)sidcs, and soitow sij^hs to sleep, 
And man, o'erlaljor'd with his bein;,'''.5 strife. 
Shrinks to that sweet I'or^^etfulness of life : 
There lie love's feverisli hope, and cunninj^'s ^niile. 
Hate's working' brain, au<l luli'il amliition's wile ; 



5(3 LARA. [canto ii. 

O'er each vain eye oblivion's pinions wave, 

And quencli'd existence crouches iu a grave. 

What better name may shiniber's bed become ? 

Night's sepulchre, the universal home. 

Where weakness, strength, vice, virtue, sunk supine. 

Alike in naked helplessness recline ; 

Glad for awhile to lieave unconscious breath. 

Yet wake to wrestle with the dread of death, 

And shun, though day l)ut dawn on ills increased, 

That sleep, the loveliest, since it di'eams the least. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 

I. 
Night wanes — tlic vapors round the mountains curl'd, 
Melt into morn, and Light awakes the world. 
Man has another day to swell the past. 
And leail him near to little, but his last; 
But mighty Nature bounds as froin her birth, 
The sun is" in the heavens, and life on earth ; 
Flowci-s in the valley, splendor in the beam, 
Healtli on the gale, and freshness in the stream. 
Immortal man ! behold her glories shine. 
And cry, oxulttng inly, " They are thine ! "' 
Gaze oil, while yet thy gladdeu'd eye may see, 
A morrow comes when tliey are not for tliee ; 
And grieve what mav above tliy senseless bier, 
Nor cai'lh nor sky wdl yield a single tear; 
Nor cloud shall gather more, nor leaf shall fall, 
Nor gale breathe forth one sigii for thee, for all; 
But creeping tilings shall revel in their spoil, 
And tit tliy vlay to fertilize the soil. 

II. 

Tis morn — 'tis noon — assembled in the hall, 
^he g-ather'd chieftains come to Otho's call : 
'Tis now the promised hour that nuist proclaim 
The life or death of Lara's future lame; 
When Ezzelin his charge may here unfold, 
And whatsoe'er the tale, it must be told. 
His faith was pledged, anil Lara's promise given, 
To meet it in the eye of man and Heaven. 
Why comes he not ? Such truths to be ilivulged, 
MeUiiuks the accuser's rest is long indulged. 

III. 
The hour is past, and Lara too is there, 
With self-eontidiug, coldly patient air; 
Why conies not Ezzclin ? The hour is past, 
And murmurs rise, an<l Otho's brow 's o'ercast : 
" I know my friend ! his faith I cannot fear, 
If yet he be on earth, expect him here; 
The roof that held him in the valley stands 
Between my own and noble Lara's lands; 



CANTO H.] LARA. 57 

]\ry \vAlh from such a piicst had honor rraiiiM, 
Kur hail Sir Ezzchu his host ilisdaiu'd, 
lint that !^olnc previous ]>roof Ibrbadc his stay, 
And urjicd liini to prepare a^'ainst to-i'tay; 
The word I plod;;cd lor his I ]ilod^fC aji-ain. 
Or will luysclt' rudceui his knighthood's stain." 

He ce;iscd— and I.ara answci-'d : " I am here 

To lend at thy demand a listening!: ear, 

To talcs of evil from a stranjrer's toujiiic, 

Whose words already nii^-'lit my heart have wnin^, 

But that I dccni'd him searcely less than mad, 

Or, at the worst, a foe i^'nohly bad. 

1 know him not — hut me it pccuis he knew 

In lands where— hut I must not tntlc too: 

Produce tliis hahhlcr— or redeem the plcdj,'-c; 

Here in thy hold, and with thy falchion's ediz:c." 

Proud Otho on the instant, reddening:, threw 
His clove on earth, and forth his sabre tlcw. 
" The last alternative l)efits mc best, 
And thus I answer for mine absent guest." 

With cheek unchanf^ing from its sallow yloora. 

However near his own or other's tomb; 

Witii hand, \vhose almost careless coolness spoke 

Its <rrasp well-used to ileal the sabre-stroke ; 

With eye, thouj^h calm, ilctcrmined not to spare. 

Did Lara too his williii;,' weapon bare. 

In vain the circli-.ijz' chieftains round them closed, 

For Otho's frenzy would not he opposed ; 

And from his liptliose words of insult fell — 

His sword is good who can maintain them well. 

IV. 

Short was the conflict ; furious, blindly rash. 

Vain Otho fjavc his bosom to the jrash : 

He bled, and fell; hut not with deadly woimd, 

Stretch'd by a dextrous .-leif^ht along the ground. 

" Demand thy life ! " He answer'd not : and then 

From that red floor he ne'er had risen again. 

For Lara's l)row upon the moment grew 

Almost to l)lack:icss in its demon hue; 

And fiercer shook his angiy falchion now 

Than when his foe's was Icvcll'd at his brow ; 

Then all was stern collectedness and art, 

Now rose the unlcavcn'd hatred of his heart; 

So little sparing to the foe he fcll'd, 

That when the ai)i)roaching crowd his arm withheld, 

He almost turn'd the thii'sty point on those 

Who thus for mercy dared to interpose ; 

But to a moment's thought that pui-jKJse bent; 

Yet look'd he on him still with eye intent, 

As if he loathed the inctfcctual strife 

That left a foe, howc'er o'crtln'own, with life; 

As if to search how far the wouiul he gave 

Had scut its victim onward to his grave. 



58 LARA. [CAXTO 11. 



Tlioy raisoil the blcivliuj;" Otlio, and the Locoh 
Forliiidc all juvsoiil (nu-slioi^, siuii, ami siieech; 
'J'lu' others mot within a noi^hluirini;' hall, 
Ami ho, iiu'enstul and IioinIIoss of tlioni all. 
The cause and ooin]iieror in this snddeii iVay, 
In haiiuhlv silence slowly strode away; 
lie hack'd" l\is steed, his honiewavd ix'ith he took, 
JSur east on Otho's tower a sin_i;lo look. 



But where wtis ho ? that meteor of a ni;;ht, 
M'ho menaeed lint to disaiipear with lis:lit. 
AMiero was (his l^zzelin ? who eaine and went 
To leave no other ti'aeo of his intent. 
He left the dome of Otho lonu" ere morn, 
III darkness, yet so well the (lath M-as worn 
lie eonld not miss it: near his dwellin>j lay; 
lint there he was not, and with coniinv;' day 
Came I'a^t iii<iiiiry, wliii'li mit'oKU'd iionuht 
]',\ee)U the alisi'iiee of the oliief^ sonjiiit. 
A ehanilier tenantless, a steed at rest, 
His host alarmM, his mnrinnrinij siinires distress'd; 
Their search extends alnnjr, awund the path. 
In dread to meet the marks of prowlers' wialh: 
]hil none aix> there, and not a hr;ike liath iiorno 
Nor jrout of lilouil, nor shn-d of mantle torn; 
Nor fall nor strnji-,uie hath defaced the L;rass, 
^\'hieh still ivluins a mark where murder was; 
Nor dal.hlin-,' tiiv^ei-s lelV to tell the tale, 
Tlu> liitter print of each eonvnlsive nail, 
A\'heji a;;dni/.ed hands thiit cease to uiiard, 
M'oniid in that uani;' the siiiootliiiess of the sward. 
t<onie such had liccn, if here a lite was reft, 
Ihit these wore not ; and donhtin^- hope is left; 
And strani;e suspicion, wliisperini:' Lara's name, 
Niiw daily mutters o'er his bluekeii'd fame; 
Then sudden silent when his I'orni appear'd, 
Awaits the ahsenco of the thinir it fear'd; 
Aiiain its wonted wonderiiiur to renew. 
And dye eonjeetnro w'ith a darker lute. 



Days roll alont;-, and t^lho's wounds are heal'd. 

But not his pride; and hate no more eoneoiil'd: 

He was a man of power, and Lara's foe. 

The friend of all who souuiu to work him woe, 

And t'rom his eonntry's jnsliee now demands 

Account of L'zzelin at Lara's hands. 

\\'lio else than Lara could leive cause to fear 

His in'csencc ? who had made him dis;ippear, 

If not the man on whom his menaeed charge 

Had sate too deeply were he left at large ? 

The "joncral runior iiriun-antly loud, 

The mystery dearest to the curious crowd ; 



(;anti) II. J LARA. 5<ji 

Till- M'i'iiiiii;,'- iricniUcssness of liiiii who strove 

'J'o will no coiiliilciicc, and wake no lovi: ; 

1'lu! s\v('('|iiM^- lici'(u;ncss wliicli liis soul iM'li'nyM, 

Tlic Hkill with wliicli lie wielded liis kccui Made; 

WIku'c hail his arm unwarlike caii^^ht that ail? 

Wlicrt! had that (ierciMK'ss ^ci'own upon his licart ? 

]''or it was not the blind cainicioiis raj^c 

A word ciiii kiiidh^ anil a word assiia^-'e; 

J!nt the deep workiii;.'' of a soul iiniiiix'd 

^\'itll an;4lil of pity wlicri; its wrath had fix'il; 

tSiieli as loii^'' [lower and ov(M'f4()r;:cd success 

(^onc(;nl rates into all that's merciless ; 

These, link'd with that desire which ever HWiiys 

Mankind, tln^ rathci' to condc^mn than praise, 

'(Jaiiist Lara ^;allicriii;4' raised at leii;itli a storm, 

Such as liiiiiself iiii;:lit feai', and foes would form, 

And lu' must answer for the absent head 

Of one that liaiuits him still, alive or dead. 



VIM. 

Within that land was many a malcontent. 

Who cursed the tyranny to which ho bent; 

That soil full many a wrin;;iiij^ despot saw. 

Who work'd his wantonness in form of law; 

lyoii;,'' war without and frcipicnt broil within 

Had niail(> a iialh for blood and ;4iant sin, 

'I'hat wailed but a si;,^nal to be^in 

]S'ew havoc, such us civil discord blonds, 

Whii'li knows no iKintcr, owns but fo<'s or friends; 

Fix'd in his feudal fortress each was lord, 

]n word and {\{'i-i\ obey'd, in soul abhorr'd. 

'fhiis Lara had inhcriti'd his lands. 

And with them pinin;,'' hearts and shij^jfisli liiinds; 

Hut lli'it loii;^' absence from his native clinio 

J lad left, him stainless of oppression's crime, 

Ami now, diverted by his milder swaj'. 

All dread by slow de;,'r(!es had worn away; 

'J'he menials felt their usual awe aloru;, 

]{ut more for bin: than them that fear was tTi'own; 

1'hcy dccm'd bim now nnhajipy, tboiijrh at first 

Their evil jiid^^iiient aiii;ur'(l of the worst. 

And each lon^- restless iii;,^^., and sih'iit mood, 

Was (raced to sickness, fed by solitude: 

And tlioiitrh his lonely habits threw of late 

(Jlooni o'er his chamber, cheerful was his (jate ; 

l'"or thence the wretched ne'er iinsootlied withdrew, 

l''or tbi'in, at least, his soul compassion knew. 

('old to tli(! t^ri^at, conteni[)tnous to the lii^li. 

The liiimbh- pass'd not his iinlKrediii;,^ ev(; ; 

]Much he would speak not, but beneath his roof 

'I'licv found asylum oft, and ne'er re|iroof. 

Ariif they who watcli'd mi^rht mark that, day by day, 

iSomi! nrw retainers ^'atlier'd to his sway; 

I'lUt most, of laic, hinee K/C/elin was lost, 

He jilay'd the courteous lord und hounteous host: 



60 LAHA. [canto n. 

l\'i'i'li:iii('o lii< sli'ifo with Otho iiiiulo him divail 

JSiiiiu- >ii;iri' pri'piuvil for liis ol)iu>xious lioiul ; 

Wluito'cr his view, liis fnxov luoro ohtuins 

\\'ith those, Iho pcopU", Ih;iii his loUow thsmos, 

11' this wi'iv polii'v, so I'lir "IWMs somul. 

'IMu' millidii jiulm'il Imt oi" him as iiu\v rouiul; 

From him i>v slci'iu-r chiefs to i'\iK> ih'iviui 

'J'hev hill reiniii'cd a sliehor, j'lul 'twas ^ivou, 

IW him no lu'asaiil moiiniM liis rilled cot, 

Ami seait'e the serf eoiiKI niiirmur o'er his lot; 

W ilh him <>iil avariee I'oiiiul its hoard seeure, 

M'ilh him eoiilempl t'oi'hore to iiioek the poor; 

■S'oiiili pieseiii eheer ami |)roinised reeomiieiiso 

iH'laiu'd. till all too late to part from theiiee: 

To hate he otVer'd, with the eomiiii;' eliaiijje, 

The deep reversi(>ii of delay'd reveiiiiv; 

To love, loiiu' halUed h\ the unequal niateh, 

The well-won eharins siieee>"s was sure to snuteh. 

All i\ow was ripe, he waits hnt to proclaim 

That slavery nothini;' which was still a name. 

The inomeiil came, the hour wlu'u Ollio tlioujjht 

iSeeure at last the veuizcanee whiilThe soiif;'ht; 

His snininons l'oui\d tlie destined criminal 

Beairt hy thousands in his swarming' hall, 

Fresh from their feudal fetters newly riven, 

Defying;' earth, and confident of hcaVi-n. 

That moruiuu' he had t'reed the soil-honnd slaves 

Who dij;- no land foi' tyrants hut their graves! 

8ueh is their cry — some watchword I'or the ti^'ht 

Jliist vindicate the wnui^i;, and warp the ri^ht: 

lieliyioii — iVeedouj- venijcauee— what you will, 

A word's enoiijjh to raise mankind to kill; 

Some factious phrase hy ennuin,!-' eanuhl imd sprcaiL 

That yuilt may iviyii, lind wolves and worms be I'eil J 

IX. 

Throujjhout that clime the feudal chii-fs had irain'd 

Such sway, their ii\l'anl numarcli hardly rciiiu'd; 

Now was'the hour fo>- faction's rebel j^rowth. 

The sert's conti-mn'tl the one, and hated both; 

They wailed hut a leader, and Ihey found 

One to their cause inseparably bound; 

l?y circnnislance eompeU'd to i)lnni;e a^ain, 

In self-dcl'ence, amidst the strife oi" men. 

Cut olV by Siune myslerioiis fate from those 

M'hom birth and u'alure meant not t'or his foes, 

Hud Lara from that nii^hl, to him accurst, 

Trepari-d to meet, but not alone, the worst; 

Some reason m\i;ed, whate'er it was, to shim 

Inquiry into dectls at distance done; 

13v miimlinc with his own the cause of all, 

E en if he fail'd, he still iK-lay'il his fall. 

The sullen calm that lor.i:' his bosom kept, 

The storm that once had spent itself and slept, 

Koused by events that seem'd forcdoom'd to iirgo " 

His gloomy fortunes to their utmost verge, 



I'ANTO n.T 



I.Alt \. 



fil 



J{ii1'nI I'nrtli, ami iiiiidi' liiiii :ill Ik; oikhj liiul hccn, 
Ami is ii^iiiiii; In; mily cliiiii^icd tlio scoiii!. 
l^iglit ciiri; hud Ik; lur liln, iind \vhh for I'liiiio, 
But, not, IcsM (illcd lor Mk; d('S|i(;rn((; ^;iiiik; : 
Jli! (iccniM liiiiiscir tiiiu-k'd oiil I'lir dIIk'I'm' \\t\.\f, 
Anil inock'd iil iiiiii, so tlicy shiirrd liis liilc. 
Wliiit cari'ii |j(; lor IIk; IVccIluiii of Uk; crowd ? 
11(1 I'liisi'd iIk' liiiiiiliU; bill, to Ix'ikI IIk; jjI'oikI. 
lie liud Iki|m'(I (|iii('l, in his sullen liiii', 

Jtnt ,11 and destiny l)(;set. him tlK;r(;: 

Inured to hunlei's, he was loiind iit l)iiy; 

And they must, kill, they eiuiiiol siiiirt;" the iir<'y. 

iSl,ern, UMMndiilions, silent, he lind Imm^m 

llcineeforlh n, eahn speetiitor ol' life's scene; 

J{nt, di'ii;;';;'d ii;rain noon the ar(;na, Hlood 

A lcMdi;r not, nMci|nal to thi; fend; 

III voice mien — ncstiin; — savii;;i' nature .spokr, 

Anil from his eve; llio ^^hidial-or hroke. 



What liools (he ofl-rciiciited 1,'de of slrife, 

'■.riio feast, of viilliircs, anil the waste of life? 

The varyin;^ fort,iii)(; of each N(;|)a,ra,t(! (ieiil, 

Tho (ierci! that. vaiKjiiish, and the faint that yioM? 

1'liu sMiokin;^' ruin, ami IIk; (M-iimiilcd wall ? 

Ill tiiis the strii;;-^l(; was the siiine wilii !ill; 

Savt; that dislemiier'd |)assioiis h'lit thi;ir forego 

Jn hittcriiess that, hanish'd all remm'Si;. 

None sued, for Mercy kn(;w her cry was vain, 

'J'he eai)tiv(; dieil ii|ion tin; hMllh^-slain : 

In cither cause, oik; ra;:(; aloiK; |ioss(;ss'(l 

The cm]iir<; of tin; alti'i'iiatc victor's hreast,; 

And they that, smote for lr(;edom or for sway, 

necin'd few were siiiiii, while more rcniiiin'd t,o sltiy. 

Jt was loo late to check the wastin;; brand, 

And J)(;s()lat.ioii l(;a,|i'il tin; fa,iiiisli il land; 

I'hi; torch was li^htcil, and (In; llaiiK; was spread, 

And Carnage smileil ii|)oii her (laily liread. 



l''re,sli with the nerv(; tin; new-born iin))ulso Mtriing', 
'I'Ik; (irst, success (o Lara's numbers clnii>^: 
IJiil that, vain vi<'tory hath riiin'd all ; 
'I'hey form ih) lon;;'er to their lea,il(;r'H call: 
Jn blinil confusion on the for; they pr(;ss, 
And think to Mnat,ch is tci seciii'i' ,sn(;ccsH. 
'J'Ik' hist, of booty, and the t,hir,st of hate, 
Lure on the bioken brij,ninds to their fate; 
Jn vain he doth wha,ti;'(;r a chief may do. 
To check the headlonj^' fury of that (;rew; 
Jn vain their stubborn ariloi- he would taiiK?, 
I'Ik; IkiiiiI that, kindles ca,iiiiol, (|iicncb the Ihurie; 
'J'Ik; wary fo(; aloiK; Initii tiirn'd their mood. 
And shown their lashness to that ci-rin;;- brijod : 
'J'he f(;i;in'd rcMreat,, tin; nif;btly ambiiseaile, 
The daily liara.>js, hikI the /iyhi tielay'd. 



62 LARA. [canto ii. 

Tlic lon;^: ]irivn(ion of llio hoped Riipply, 
The IciilU'ss r.'st bciiciith thi' huiuid sky, 
Tlic sliihhdi'ii wall lh:il mocks tho h'dirui'r's art, 
And pmUs Iho imlii'Mco ol" his hutUcd heart, 
Cjr these lliev had not (k'eiuM : the l)atlle-(hiy 
Tliey eoidd eiieoimter as a veteran may; 
Ihit more ])ivterr'd tlie i'liry of the strife. 
And )ir(>seiit deatli, to hourly sntl'erin;;' life: 
And famine wi-in;:s, and fever sweeps away 
liis minilxTs mellin!;- fast lV(im their array'; 
Intenipei-ate ti'iiimph fades to diseontent," 
And Lara's sonl alone seems still unbent : 
But few remain to aid his voice and hand, 
And thousands dwindled to :i scanty hand: 
Desperate, though few, the last and hesi remain'd 
To mourn the discipline they late disdaiu'd. 
One hope survives, the frontier is not far, 
And thence tiu-y may escape from native war; 
And hear within them to the nciuhhoriny stato 
All exile's sorrows, or an outlaw's hate : 
Hard is the task their fatherland-4o quit, 
But harder .still to |)eri>h or suhmit. 

Xll. 

It is resolved — they march — consentinir Niprht 
(Juides with lier star Iheii' dim and torchless llight^ 
Already they perceive its traiiquil beam 
Sleep oil the surface of the barrier stream; 
Already tliev dcscrv— Is you the bank ? 
Away! 'lis lined with man\ a hostile rank. 
IJeturn or llv!— ^\■|lat )^lill'ers in the rear? 
"J'is ()tlio's lianner — the pursuer's spear! 
Are those the shepiierds' fires upon the iieii;htf 
Alas! they blaze too widely for the llit;ht :" 
Cut oil" from hope, mid eonipass'd iu the toil. 
Less blood, iiercliunee, hath bouLilu a riclur spoil! 

XIII. 

A moment's pause— 'tis but to breathe their baud, 
C)r shall IIk'V onward pre-s, or here withstand i 
It matters little— if they charji'e the foes 
■Who by their border-stream their march op|iose, 
Some few, iierchauce, may break and pass the line, 
llouevcr link'd to bailie such desii^ii. 
"The charge l>e ours! to wail for their assault 
Were fate well worthy of a coward's halt." 
Forth tlies each sabre, rein'd is every steed, 
Anil the nevt word shall scarce outsirip tlie deed : 
In the ne\t tone of Lara's i^atheriu;;- breath 
How many shall but hear the voiiv of deatli! 

xi\ . 
His blade is bared -iu him there is an air 
As deep, bet far loo traiupiil for despair; 
A somethiiii;' of iuditrereuce more than llicu 
Becomes the bravest, if tliev feel fur men. 



CANTO II.] LA It A. 03 

Ifc (iirnM hi-i (•v<' on Knird, ever near, 

And si ill loo CiiiIIiI'mI (o Ijctriiy one; fciir; 

]'<Tc|i!iM('c 'Iwiis liiil tli(' iiioom'm (liin Iwili^lil llir(MV 

y\loii;,r |,j>4 ii.s|)<'cl iin iin\vonlc(l Inn; 

()( nioMi'iil'iil imlciicsM, wlioMc dec]) lint (^xiu'chhM 

TIk: Iriilli, iind not lli<! Icfi'or oC his l)r('!isl. 

I'liis iwir.'i iiiMikM, ,'ind laid liis liiinil on his: 

It ti'i'nilili'd not in stidi :in lioni' iis this ; 

His li|i was silent, si'arfcjy heal, liis lic.'irt, 

His cyo ttlonc procluiiii'd — 

*' Wc will not piii't ! 
Tliy bniid inay ptM-isli, or tliy IViciids nuiy lice, 
Fiircwcll to lilo, lint not iidicii to tlico! " 

The woi'd halli pass'd his li|is, atid onward drivon, 
J'onrs the linl<'<l liaiiil thi'on;^h ranlis asiiridff rivon; 
Well has fach sti'C<l ohcy'd tln^ lirnicd hrcj, 
And llasli th<' sciniitars, and i'in;^'s tli(! steel; 
Ontnnmher'd, not onthi'aved, they still ojiposo 
Despair to darings and a, (Voiit to foes; 
And l)lood is niin;;led with tiii^ dashin;; str<:arn, 
Whieli luiiH all redly till the inornin;^ hoaiii. 

XV. 

CoininaiKlin^', aiiiin;.'', aniniiilin<^ all, 

Whei'i! foe anpear'd lo jirc^ss, or IViend to full, 

Cheers Lara, s voife, and waves or strikes his Hteel, 

Inspinn^r hope hiniscll' hail ceased to feel. 

None lied, lor well they kii(!W that flight were vain, 

Hnt thosc^ that waver tni'n to smile a/^'ain, 

While yet they /ind the (intu'st <if tlu; ibo 

Iteeoil hefori! their h^ailt-r's look and hlov/; 

Now yirt with niinihers, now almost alone, 

II(! foils their ranks, or rennites his own: 

]Iimseir hi; spared not- -onee they seeni'd to My — 

Now was the time, he waved his hand on hi;,''h. 

And shook — Why sndden droops that plnnu'd erest ? 

'J'he shaft is sped -(he arrow's in his hreast! 

"i'liat fatal ^festiiro left the tin;,Mmrded side, 

And I)eath liatli stricken down yon ai'm of pi'idc. 

The w ird of Irinmpli fainted from his ton;:ne ; 

'riiat hand, so raised, how droopinj^ly it hnii}^! 

Itilt^'et tlie sword instinetively retains. 

TI)on;.^li from its fellow shriidv the falhni; reins; 

These Kaled Hnatelii^s: dizzy with the hlow, 

And senseless heniliii;.f o'er Ids saddle-how 

I'ereeives not Lara that his anxious paj,''o 

]{ei,'uiles his eliarj_'er from the eondiat's nij,''e : 

Meantime IiIh foUowei's ehar^o and (diarjri! ai;ain; 

Too iiiix'd the slayers now to heed the slain! 

XVI. 

Day plimm(;r« on thi! dyin;; and the dead, 

The (•lov(!M (;inrass, and the lielndess head; 

The war-horse maslerless is on the earth, ^ 

And that last (^asp liatli hnrst his hloody girth; 



(34 LARA. [canto II 

Anil iioMT, yot qiiivoriiiu: with what life rcmaiiiM, 
Tlu' hoi'l thill iir;;o(l him, ;iiul tho liuiul lh;U roiiiM. 
Anil sonii' too ncMi' that roUiim' torrent lie, 
A\'iio>e waters mock the lip of those that die; 
That iiaiitiitu' thirst whieh scorehes in tiie hreatli 
Of those that die the soldier's fu rv deatli, 
In vain inijit'ls the hurniiiji' month to eravc 
One droll— the last — to eool it for the j;-ravc; 
"With l"ei'l)le and eonvnlsive etlort swept 
Their linii's aloni^' the eriinson'd tnrf have erept : 
The faint remains of life stieh striii^\i;les waste, 
H'.it yet they reach the stream, and hend to taste : 
They feel it's freslmess, and almost partake — 
^^'hy i>anse ? — No further thirst have they to slake— 
It is uui|uenehM, and yet ti\ey feel it not — 
It was an agony — hut now forji'ot ! 

XV ir. 

IhMieath a lime, remoter from the scouo, 

AN'here l>ut lor him that strife had never hcen, 

A hrcathinj: hut deviited warrkiT lay : 

'Twas Lara bleidinL; fast from life away. 

J lis follower once, and now his only u'uide. 

Kneels Kalcd watehfid o'er his wellini;' side, 

And with his searf would stanch the tides thai rush 

\\'ith each convulsion in a blacker fiiish ; 

And then, as his faint hreathini;- waxes low, 

In feebler, not less fatal tricklin^'s How: 

lie scarce can sjieak, but motions him 'lis vain, 

And merely aiUls another throb lojiain. 

lie clasps the hand that panj;- which would assuage, 

And sadly smiles his thanks to that dark page, 

^\"llo notiuug fears, nor feels, nor hoetls, nor sees, 

Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees; 

Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim, 

Held all the light that shone on earth for him. 

xviit. 

The foe arrives, who long had seareh'd the lield, 
Their triumiih nought till Lara too should yield; 
They would remove him, but they sec 'twere vain, 
And he regards them with a calm disdain, 
That rose to reconcile him with his fate, 
And that escape to ik'alh t'rom living hate: 
And Otho comes, and leaping from his steed, 
Looks on the bleeding foe that made him bleed, 
And questions of his state; he answers not, 
Scarce glances on him as on one forgot, 
And turns to Kaled : — each ri'uuiining word 
Tlu'y understood not, if distinctly heard; 
His dying tones are in that other tongue, 
To wliieh some strange remembrance wildly clung. 
They spake of other scenes, but what — is known 
To kaled, whom their meauing reach'd alone; 
And he replied, though faintly, to their sound, 
Wliile gazed the rest in dumb ama/enient round ; 



ANK) II.] LARA. 65 

Tluy si'oin'il even tluMi— flint twain — unto (lie lust 
To hiilf n.r-ct tlu! proeut ill tiic past ; 
To share hclweeii (liriiisrlws some separate I'ale, 
Whose darkness none hesiile shoiiKl peuutratc. 

XIX. 

Their words tlioiifjh faint were many — from the tone 

1'heir import tiiose wlio lieard could jud;;e alone ; 

From this, you mi^^lit jiave deeni'd yoiiii;,'' Kaled's death 

!M()ro near than Lara's hy his voice and hroalh, 

80 sail, so deep, and hesilatir.^jf hroke 

The acc(mts his scaree-movin;^ jiale lips spoke; 

IJiit Lara's voice, tiioim'h low, at first was clear 

And calm, till inurmuriiij;' death fiiisp'd hoarsely near: 

Ikit from his visaL;e little could we f,^uess, 

So unrepiMitant, dark, and passionless, 

Save that wIkmi struLiu'linjif nearer to his last, 

Ujion that pa^'e his eye was kindly east ; 

And once, as Kaled's answering;- accents ecascil, 

Kose Lara's hand, and pointed to the East: 

^^'hetllcl• (as tlu.'ii the hreakinj^' sun from lii;;h 

IloU'd hack the clouds) tlii^ morrow eauyht his eye, 

Or that 'twas clianci;, or some remeiiiher'd scene 

That raised his arm to ])oiut where such had heen, 

Scarce Kaled scem'd to know, hut tiirn'd away, 

As if his iK'art ahhorr'd that coiniii;,'' liay, 

And siirunk his ;;'lanee heforc that morning' lif^ht 

To look on Lara's hrow — where all ji'rew nif^lit. 

Yet sense scem'd left, thoujih hetter were its loss; 

For when one near display'd the ahsolvinj^ cross, 

And protl'er'd to his touch the holy head. 

Of which his jiartiiij,'' soul iiiij^ht own the need, 

1I(! look'd ui)oii it with an eye jirofane. 

And smiled — Ilea\cii |iardon ! if 'twere with disdain; 

And Kaled, thou;4li he spoke not, nor withdrew 

From Lara's face his iix'd despairing view, 

With hrow repulsive, and with gesture swift, 

Flung hack the hand which lu^ld the sacred gift, 

As if such hut dislurl)'d llie expiring man. 

Nor seein'd to know his life lint t/icii hegan, 

The life immorta!, infinite, secure. 

To all for whom that cross hath made it sure ! 



But gasping hcavcul the hreath that Lara drew, 
And dull the film along' his dim eye grew; 
His limhs strctch'd fluttering, and his head droop'd o'er 
The weak yet still untiring knee that hore; 
He press'tl the hand lie held upon his heart — 
It heats no more, hut Kaled will not ])art 
With the cold gras]), hut feels, and feels in vain, 
For that faint tiirol) which answers not again. 
" It heals! " — Away, thou dreamer! he is gone — 
It once was Lara which thou look'st upon. 
5 



66 LARA. [CAXTO IL 



lie gazecl, as if not yet had pass'cl away 

The haiijihty spirit of that humble clay ; 

And those around have roused him from liis trance, 

But cannot tear from thence his fixed <<lancc ; 

And when in raising him from where he bore 

Within his arms the form that felt no more, 

lie saw the head his breast would still sustain, 

Roll down like earth to earth upon the plain ; 

lie did not dash himself there!)}', nor tear 

The glossy tendrils of his raven hair, 

But stro\e to stand and gaze, but reel'd and fell, 

Scarce Ijrcathing more than that he loved so well. 

Than that he lov'd ! Oh ! never yet beneath 

The breast of man such trusty love may breathe ! 

That trying moment hath at once re^eal'd 

The seciet long and yet but half couceal'd ; 

In baring to revive that lifeless breast. 

Its grief seem'd ended, but the sex confess'd; 

Antl life retarn'd, and Kaled feltjio shame — 

What now to her was Womanhoocl or Fame ? 



And Lara sleeps not where his fathers sleep, 

But ^vhere he died his grave was dug as deep ; 

Nor is his mortal slumber less profound, 

Though priest nor bless'd, nor marble dcck'd the mound ; 

And he was monrn'd by one whose quiet grief, 

Less loud, outlasts a people's for their chief. 

Vain was all question ask'd her of the past, 

And vain e'en menace — silent to the last ; 

She told nor whence nor why she left bclund 

Her all for one who seem'd but little Ivinil. 

Why did she love him ? Curious fool ! — be still — 

Is human love the growth of human will ? 

To her he might be gentleness ; the stern 

Have deeper thoughts than your dull eyes discern, 

And when the}' love, your smilers guess not how 

Beats the strong heart, though less the lips avow. 

They were not common links that form'd the chain 

That bound to Lara Kaled's heart and brain ; 

But that wild tale she brook'd not to unfold, 

And seal'd is now each lip that could have told. 



They laid him in the earth, and on his breast. 
Besides the wound that sent his soul to rest. 
They found the scattered dints of many a scar 
Which were not planted there in recent war : 
Where'er had pass'd his summer years of life. 
It seems they vanish'd in a land of strife ; 
But all unknown his glorj' or his guilt, 
These only told that somewhere blood was spilt. 
And Ezzelin, who might have si^oke the past, 
Eeturu'd no more — that night appear'd his last. 



C.A_\To II.] LARA. 67 



Upon that iii<^ht (a peasant's is the talc) 

A (Serf that CToss'd tlie intcrvcnini^ vale, 

When Cynthia's liglit almost g-avc way to morn, 

And nearly veil'd in mist her waninjj' horn ; 

A Serf, that rose betimes to threail the wood, 

And hew the houjiii that bought his ehildren's food, 

Pass'd by the river that divicles the plain 

Of Otlio s lands and Lara's broad domain: 

lie heard a tramp — a horse and horseman broke 

From out the wood — Itelbre him was a cloak 

Wrapt round some liurdeu at his saddle-bow, 

Bent was his head, and hidden was his brow. 

Housed by the sudileu sight at such a time. 

And sonic foreboding that it might t)e crime. 

Himself unheeded watch'd the stranger's course, 

Who reaoh'd the river, bounded from his horse, 

And lifting thence the burden \yhicli he bore. 

Heaved up the bank, and dash'd it from the shore,* 

* The event in this section was suggested by the description of the death, or 
ratlier burial, of the l>iilie of Uaudia. The most interesting and particular account 
of it is given by Burchard, and is in substance as follows : — " On the eighth day of 
June, the Cardinal of Valenna and tlie JJukc of Gandia, sons of the Tope, supped 
with their mother, Vanozza, near the church of S. Pietro ad vinculo ; several 
other persons beuig present at the eutertahiraeut. A late hour approaching, and 
tlie cardinal havnig reminded his brolherthat it was time to return to the ap<istolic 
palace, they mounted their horses or mules, with only a few attendants, and pro- 
ceeded toticther as far as the palace of Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, when the duko 
informed the cardinal tliat, before he returned home, he had to pay a visit of 
pleasure. Dismissing therefore all his attendants, excepting his flajfiero. or foot- 
man, and a person in a mask, who had paid him a visit while at supper, and who, 
during tlie space of a month, or thereabouts, previous to this time, had called 
upon him almost daily at the apostolic palace, he took this person beliiud liiui on 
his mule, and proceeded to the street of the Jews, where he quitted his servant, 
directing him to remain there until a certain hour; when, if he did not return, he 
might repair to the palace. The duke then seated the person in the mask bciiind 
him, and rode, I know not whither; but in tliat niglit he was assassinated, and 
thrown into the river. The servant, after having been dismissed, was also as- 
saulted and mortally wounded; and although he was attended with great care, 
yet such was his situation that he could give no intelligible account of what had 
befallen his master. In tlie morning, the duke not having returned to the iialace, 
liis servants began to be alarmed; and one of them informed the pontitt of the 
evening excursion of his sons, and that the duke had not yet made his appear- 
ance. Tliis gave tiie pope no small anxiety; but he conjectured that the duke had 
been attracted by some courtesan to pass the night with her, and, not choosing to 
quit the house in open day. had waited till the following evening to return home. 
AVIien, hDwever, the evening arrived, and he found himself disappointed in his 
txpietatinns, he became dei-iily afllicted, and began to make inquiries from dif- 
fen-iit p^■^^()lls. whom he ordered to alteiid him fortliat purpose. Amongst these 
was a man named (iiorgio Scliiavoni, who, having discharged some timber from 
a bark in tlic riviT, had remained on board the vessel to wateli it; and being in- 
ti-rmgalcd wlieilicr he had seen any one tlirown into the river on the night pre- 
triliiig, he replied, that he saw two men on foot, who came down the street, and 
looked diligently aiiont, toobserve whether any person was passing. That seeing 
no one, they returned, and a short time afterwards two others came, and looked 
around in the same numncr as the former: no person still appearing, they gave 
a sign to tlieir companions, wlien a man came, mounted on a white horse, having 
behind him a dead body, the head and arms of which hung on one side, and the 
feet on the other side of tiie horse; the two jiorsous on foot supporting the body, 
to prevent its falling. They thus pi-ocei'ded t<iwards that part where the filth of 
the eitv is iisuallv discharged into the river, and turning the horse, with his tail 
towards the w;itcr, (lie two jiersous took the dead liody by the arras and feet, and 
Willi all their strciiu'lli thing it into the river. 'I'lie person oii horseback then asked 
if they had thrown it in ; to which they rcphed, • Signer, si ' (Ves, sir). He then 



j;,S T..\nA. [canto n. 

'riii'K )>nii'^('(l, find liinUM, mill luniM, iiiid scciiiM lo wiitcli, 

Aiiil --lill iinulhrr liiirricd uLiiii'i' wmdd siialcli, 

And Inllow wilh lii-^ slt'ii ilic sH'ciiui lliat llowM, 

As if I'vi'n yi'l (od niiicli its snrfiu'i' sliowM : 

At onco li(^ sliirti'd, slooii'd, iironnd luni strewn 

TIk^ winlci- llinids liiid sciilIcrM liciips oC stone; 

Of tlu'sc the lu'iiv icst tlifiice he ;^Mllu'r'd tlifiv, 

And sliini;' them willi ;i more tlian eonunon euro. 

Meantime tlie Serf liail ere|il lo wliere unseen 

lliniself mi^ht safely mark what lids inii^lil mean; 

lie eau;:lit a glimpse, as of a lloatin^- Ineasi, 

And sonu'tluni;' i^iiller'd siarlike on tlie vest, 

jiut ere lie well eoiiid maik the hnoyanf trunk, 

A massy t'ra;^nient sniole it, and il sniiU; 

It rose au'ain, hut indislinel to vii'W, 

And left the wali'rs of a imrple hue, 

Then di'epjv disa|i|iear'd : the horseman ^:i/.(hI 

Tiii ehhM liie lalest,eddy il iuid raised; 

'riieii lurniu',;', \aidled on his pawiii';' sleed, 

And insianl spurrM him into |)antiii;i' speetl. 

His fare was inask'd the featUl•e1^'0|■ the dead, 

Jl' dead il were, escaped the observer's drea<l ; 

Hut if in sooth a star ils liosom hore, 

Nneli is the hadf^e that knighthood e\er wore, 

And sneli 'lis known Sir l'",/,/elin had worn 

I'poii the ni^liI that led to siieli a morn. 

If thus lie perish'd, Heaven receive his soul! 

llis nndiseover'd limlis to ocean roll; 

And eiiarilv upon the hope would dwell 

It was uoi "I.ara's hand l)\ which he fell. 



And Kaled — Tiara — Kzzelin, are ji'ono, 

Alike without their inonninental stone! 

'I'lic lii'st, all etVoiis vainly strove lo weiiii 

From linj^'erin^' where her cliiel'lain's hlood had been; 

(Jricf had so tamed a spii'it once loo proud, 

Her tears wi're few, her wailiiii;- nc\cr loud; 

looltPil tinVMnls till' rlvrr, unit scrlni; ii miiutli' llnalliit; on llu> slrciim, ho liuiutird 
wlun It was llial iipiHwirril lihu'U ; In wliirh lln y iMiswiMcd, It w:is ii maniK-; Mini 
oiu' clthciii Ihri'W sloiics ii|i(iii il, in I'oiiMMiiU'iin' nl wlilili II saiilv. 'I'lu' iitU'iul- 
lllilsot'llu'pi.iilill llicu ilii|ilUril ll-om(lii>i>;iii whv lie liiiil ilol rcvi'alril lliK lo llio 
KoMM-iion^lllir iil.\ ; lo \\ lii.li li.' ri'iiliril, lliul lie liiul si'iMi 111 llis liiin' a hiiiulivd 
tli'iiil heilies liuowii liilo ilic riMT ill lli.'saiiu' iiliicc, wlllunil uii\ iiKiiilry heim; 
made ^.'^lH•^■lill^ llicai; and thai he liiul iiol, lliereli.iv, ecmsldta-cd il as a iiialliT 
ol iMiv iiiipoilMiu'c. 'I'ln' llsluMiiH'ii and s.'aiiii'ii \vrr<> llieii eolleeU'd, and ordiTed 
te M'iircli III!' n\er, whiTc. ea llic lellcwinx eveiiiiii;, lliev I'oinid the IhmIv i>I Hie 
ilaUe, >vHli Ids liaMi eiillie, and Ihiiiy dmals In Ids piii'sc'. He was niert'ed « illi 
nine woamls, oiUM>r wldeli WHS In Ids lliiual, Hie elliers In Ids head, liody, and 
lluilis. No sooiKM- was the ponlilV Inlornied ol' the dealh of his son, and thai he 
liad lieen Ihrown, like llllli, into llie ri\ er, Ihaii, kIvIiii; wav to Ids Kl'lef, he shut 
liiinseH'iiji 111 a ehaniher, and wept hillerly. The Canllnal ol Se,i;ovla, and oilier 
alleiulaiils on lln' |»M'e, "enl lo llio door, and al'ler many hours spi'id In pei'sna- 
slons and I'xliorlalions, picvaili'd mion hini lo adniil them. l''rom the I'veiiiii.ur 
er Wednesday lill the roll.uviin; .Salnrda\ Ihe pope took nolood; nor did he sleep 
tVcaii T'hnrsday inondnj; lill tin- same hour <ai Ihe eiiMihii; day. M IciiKlli, how- 
ever, Klvins wav lo Ihe enlrealies ol'hls allendanis, he lMi;an to restrain Ills sor- 
row, and lo eon'sldcr the inliirv wideli his o\\ n heallli inl:.;lil sustain b.v the nirllier 
Indiilneiue of his Krief."— ^le.fivf's Leo the Tenth, vol. 1. p. •.'ll.'>. 



CANTO II.] LARA. 09 

Hut furious would you tear lici' from tho spot 
\\'l',Mro vet sill' sr;iri'c hi'llcvcil llml lie was not, 
Her (!yt! shot lorlli willi all tlu' li\ in;,'' lire 
Tliiil liauuts llic liKTcss in licr wliclpless ire; 
]iut lull to waste her weary niouients there, 
She talk'd all idly unto shapes of air, 
Sueh as th(^ l)usy hiain of Sorrow jiaints, 
And wooes to listen to iiei' fond eouiplaints; 
And siie would sit, IxMiealh tiie very tree, 
Where; lay liis (h'oopin^' head upon her knee; 
And in tliaL posture; where; she saw him fall. 
His words, his looks, his dyinji' {rrasp reeall ; 
And she had shorn, hut; saved her raven hair, 
And oft woulil snatch it from her 1)i)soim there, 
And fold and press it ;i(;ntly to the jii-ouml. 
As if she; staneii'd anew some phantom's wound. 
Herself would (iu(;stion, an<l for him reply; 
1'iien risinj;', start, anil i)(;(!kon him to lly 
l'"i'oni s(>ine inui^in(;d sp(;(;tre in pursuit; 
'J'hen seat hei- down upon sonu; linden's root, 
And hide lu;r visa;4e willi her mea;;re hand, 
Or trace stranj;e eharaeters alon;^' llu; sand. — 
This eould not last — she li(;s hy him she loved; 
Her talc uutold — her truth too dearly proved. 



THE GIAOUR: 

A FRAGMENT OF A TURKISH TALE. 



'One fatal remombrniipo— ono sorrow tliat throws 
Its blouk shrtdo nliko o'er our joys and our woes — 
To tvlilcli Lite nottiing ilarkor nor l)rij{litcr can bring, 
For which joy liath no balm— ami aJliietiou no sting." — Moore. 



SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ., 

(LS A SLIGHT 151-T MOST SINClCIiK TOKliN OF Al).MIRATIOy 

FOU HIS OKNIUS, 

RKSl'KCT FOIl HIS CHAKACTKR, 

AKD GKATITl'DK FOU HIS FKIKNDSHIP, 

THIS rUODUCTION IS INSOIUUKU 

BT HIS OBLIGED AND AFFECIIOSATK SKltVANT, 

UYUON. 
Lox»i>ON, Muy, 1S12. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

Thk talc which these disjointed tVaiinients present, is founded upon eircum- 
sfannes now loss eoninion in the East tlian formerly; oitlior beeause tlio Indies 
are more circuuispeot than in the "olden time,'" or boeaiisc tlio Christians have 
better fortune, or less enterprise. The story, when entire, contained the adven- 
tures of a female slave, who was thrown, in tlio Alussulman manner, into llio 
sea for infidelity, and nvenijed by a youus; Venetian, her lover, at the time tlie 
Seven Islands were possessed by tlie Keiniblio of Venice, and soon after the .Vr- 
nauts wore beaten liaek tVom the Mivrca, wliicli tliey liad ravaged for some time 
snbseiinent to tlie liussiaii invasion. 'I'lie desertion of tlie Jlainotes, on licin;; 
refused llie plunder of Misitni, led to the abandonment of that enterprise, and to 
tlu' desolation of the Jlorea, duriuf; wlilili the cruelty e.\ercisod on all sides was 
uuiiaiallelcd even in tlie annals of the Kaithlul. 

70 



THE GIAOUR. 



No Ijivath of nil- to brciik tlio wiivo 
Tliiit- I'olls below tlie Alluriiiiurs ixr.ivc, 
Tliat toml) wliicli, nU-aiiiiiif^' o'er the clid',*'' 
First t;rec(s I lie iKimcwiinl-voi'riiitr .skill', 
]li;;ii u\-v t\u: liiiiil Ik; siivod in vain; 
Wliun sliall such hero live iii^ain ? 

Fair clime ! wIicmh; every HCiisoii sniilcx 

lieni;iii!Uil o'ei" tii()-<e hlesscil islcH, 

Which, seen i'roiii far < 'oloniiii's heit;h(:, 

IMakc t;l;i(| (lie iicarl, thai hails the rti^^ht. 

And lend lo iDiiclincHs dcli^jht. 

1'hei'e mildly dimpling'', Ocean's cheek 

llidlecis the tints of many a ])eak 

Can^^lit hy the la.n;;hinj^ tides that lave 

These Ivlens of tln^ l')asli;i'n wave: 

And if at, times a transient hii'c/.e 

JJr(^ak Ihe iihie crystal of the seas, 

Or sweep one blossom from the trees, 

How welcome is each j^cnlle air 

That wakes and wafts the odoi's llicrc! 

Foi- there— the Rose o'er criij;' or vule, 

&iiltana of the; Nijj;lilin^ale,t 

1"hc maid I'oi' whom his nieloily, 

His llionsand soii^^s are heai'd on hi;^'lt, 

Iilooms bliishin;;' l() her lover's (ale ; 

]Iis (jnc-en, the trarden ((neen, his [tosc, 

Unbent by winils, nnehill'd by snows, 

Fur fi'om the winters of tin; West, 

]Jy eveiy breezes and season blest, 

Ketui'ns the sweets by natnre (;iveii 

In softest incens(r back to heaven; 

And j^ratcfnl yields that smilin;^' sky 

Her fairest Imi! and fra;;ranl sijili. 

And many a snminer llower is there. 

And many a shade that lovi; mi;;ht shiU'C, 

Anil many a. ;;rott,o, meant for rest, 

That holds the pirate I'or ii i^iiest; 

• A fonil) ahDvc till.' rocks on lliu proiaoutory, hy somo Kiipposcd flio Hcpiilcliro 
of Tlii'mUliicli'N. 

t 'I'Ik' iiltiii'liiiiciit of the iili;litlii|,'iil<; to \h<: roKC Ih a well-known I'iikImii t'lililc. 
Jl' I nilhliiki.' not, tlic " lUilliiil ol u lliou.sana Iu1i:h" Ih oml' of IiIh appillnlloiik. 

71 



72 ''^IIE GIAOUR. 

"\Miose bark in sheltering cove below 

Lurks for the passing pcaucful prow, 

Till the gay mariner's guitar* 

Is heard, and seen the evening star; 

Then stealing with the niuiiied oar, 

Far shaded by the rocky shore, 

Rush the niglit-prowlers on the prey, 

And turn to groans his roundelay. 

Strange — that when Nature loved t'o trace, 

As if for gods, a dwelling-place, 

And every charm and grace hath mix'd 

Within the paradise she fix'd, 

There man, enamor'd of distress. 

Should mar it into wilderness, 

And trample, In-utc-like, o'er each flower 

Tliat tasks not one laborious hour, 

Nor claims the culture of his hand 

To bloom along the fairy land, 

But springs as to preclude his care. 

And sweetly wooes him — but to spare : 

Strange — tiiat where all is peaee- beside, 

There passion riots in her pride, 

And lust and rapine wildh' reign 

To darken o'er the fair domain. 

It is as though the fiends prevail'd 

Against the seraphs they assail'd, 

And, fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell 

The freed inheritors of hell; 

So soft the scene, so fonn'd for joy, 

So curst the tyrants that destroy ! 

He who hath bent him o'er the dead 

Ere the first day of death is tied. 

The first dark Jay of nothingness, 

The last of danger and distress, 

(Before Decay's efiacmg fingei-s 

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,) 

And mark'd the mild angelic air. 

The rapture of repose that's there, 

The fix'd yet tender traits that streak 

The languor of the placid cheek. 

And — but for that sad slirouded eye. 

That fires not, wins not, weeps not now, 
And but for that chill, changeless brow. 

Where cold Obstruction's apathy t 

Appalls the gazing mourner's heart. 

As if to him it could impart 

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; 

Yes, but for these and these alone, 

Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 

He still might doubt the tyrant's power; 

* The jniitar is the constant aniuscnient of the Greek sailor by night: with a 
steady fair wind, and during a calm, it is aoconipaiiieU always by tlie voice, and 
uften by dancuig- 

t " Ay, but to die, and go we know not where, 
To lie in cold obstruction." 

Measure for Measure, Act iii. Sc. 2. 



lUE GIAOUR. 73 

So ftiir. so calm, so softlv scal'd, 

The first, l;ist look by iloatli revcal'd!* 

Sufh is tlie aspect of this shove; 

'Tis Greece, l)iil living' (ireccc no more! 

So coldly sweet, so deadly lair. 

We start, for soul is wantiay' there. 

Ilcrs is tlie loveliness in death, 

That parts not quite with partin<i breath; 

35ut beauty with that fcarfid bloom. 

That hue "wliich haunts it to the tomb, 

Expression's last reccdinji' ray, 

A gilded halo hoverinj,'^ round decay. 

The farewell beam of Fcelinjr pass'd away ! 
Spfirk of that llame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
"Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth ! 

Clime of the unforgotten brave ! 
Wliose land from plain to mountain-cave 
"Was Freedmn's home, or Glory's grave! 
Shrine of the mighty ! can it be 
That this is all remains of thee ? 
Approach, thou craven crouching slave : 

Say, is not this Therniopylfe ? 
These waters blue that round j-ou lave, 

O servile offspring of the free — 
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? 
The gulf, the rock of Salamis ! 
These scenes, their story not unknown, 
Arise, and make again your own; 
Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
The embers of their former fires ; 
And he who in the strife expires 
"Will add to theirs a name of fear 
That Tyranny shall quake to hear. 
And leave his sons a hope, a fame. 
They too will rather die than shame: 
For Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeatli'd l)y bleeding Sire to Son, 
ThoTigh baffled oft is ever won. 
Bear witness, Greece, thy living page 
Attest it many a deathless age ! 
"While kings, in dusty darkness hid, 
Have left a nameless pyramid. 
Thy heroes, tiiough the general doom 
Hath swept the column from their tomb, 
A mightier monument command. 
The mountains of their native land! 
There points tliy Muse to stranger's eye 
Tlie graves of those that cannot die ! 

* I tri... fiat fpw of my rcadnrs have ever Tiad an opportunity of witnessing 
what is liem attempted in description; but tlinse who linve will pmhalily retain 
a painful rriu.«'inl)rance of tliat siiifiular beauty wliicli pervades, witli lew excep- 
tions, tlie fejtures of the dead, a few hoin-s, and hut for a i'vw Iiours. after " tiie 
spirit is not ;.hen'." It is to he remarked in cases of violent death liy f^tin-shot 
wounds, the expression is always that of lan;.'iior. whatever the natural eiiersy 
of tlie sutfere-'s character: but in death fn'iu a stab, the conntenaiicc preserves 
its traits of ft«ling or ferocity, and the uiind its bias, to the last. 



74 TUi^ aiAorii. 

"Vwcvc \ox\)X ((> tfll, iiiiil s!iil 111 trnt'O, 
Ivncli sli'p tViMU spliMiiInc to (li<i;i;u'o : 
l'",iii>ui;ii - no rui-i'iL;!! I'dc could hik'H 
'lliy soul, (ill rn.in ilsolf it IVII ; 
Vo-i! Soir-iiiinsciiu'nl )i;ivi'il the \v;iy 
To villiiiii-l)oiiils iiihl ili'spot s\V!iy. 

M'liiit cim In- loll \\lu> lro;uls iliy shore ? 

Nil loii'oiul of liiiiu' oMi'ii liiuo, 
><o tlioiiif on wliicli tlu- Muse niiulit soar, 
lli<;ii as tliino own in ilays ol' voro, 

WluMi man was worthy of tliy I'linie, 
Tho hcai'ls wilhiu Ihy valleys hivd, 
The liory souls iliul niii;hl have led 

'I'hy sons to <Ui-ils suhlinu-, 
i^ow ci-awl iVoni ciailh' to llu" "ii'ave, 
blavos — nay, the Ixjnilsmou of a sliivo,* 

And oallons, save to erinio; 
Stain'd with eaeli evil that iiollutes 
iSlanUinil, whi'ie least above the bi'Utes; 
Without even >a\ai;i> viilue 14csl, 
Wiliiont one free or valiant hiea>t. 
.Still to the iieii^hhorinu ports thev wall 
I'roverliial wiles and aneieni eral't ; 
In tliis the suhtle (ireeU is I'ound, 
Vov Ihi-^, and this alone, ivnownM. 
In vain niiuht l.iherty invoke 
Tlie spirit lei its hondaye broke, 
Vv raise tJu> neek that eourls the yoke: 
Jvo more lier sxirrows 1 bewail, 
Yet tliis will be ii nioiirnl'id tale. 
And tliey who listen may believe, 
^Vllo hoiird it lirsl laid eiuise to j;ric>vo. 

Ivir, dark, alonLj' the blue s(>a L^laneing', 
The shadows ol' the roeUs ad\ aneini; 
JStart im the lisher's eye like boat 
Vi' island-pirate or Mainote; 
And t'earlnl Tor liis li^lil t-aique, 
lit- slums the near but iloubtrul ereek : 
Thoujzh worn and weary with his toil. 
Ami eue.d)er'il wilh his scaly spoil, 
ISlowly, yet strongly, plies Iho oar, 
Till Port l.eone's safer shore 
l{eeei\es him by the lovely lijrlit 
Tlial best hoeoaios an ICusterii nij^ht. 

\Vho thundi-i'in^- eomes on blackest steed, 
M'ith shicken'd bit and hoof of speed! 
lliMicalh the I'lattcrin^;' iron's sound 
The eaveru'd echoes wake around 
111 hish lor la^h, and hound for hound; 

* Athoiis Is t)io j>w)H>rty of tlio Klsliir Airu (tlio slnvo of llu> sorftsllo niiil sunr- 
Olnu >»r tin- weim-n^, wtm avpi'tuts (lio \Vnvwiuli>. A pmulor iniil oanneli — theso 
jvi'o \iiA luilito, .M'l tiuo iiii|K'lliitlt)iis — Mviw j/Divr/is till" yorcrttof orAllieiis. 



THE (llAOUn. 7;') 

Till" rofim thill Hircaks IIk; CDursor'H siilo 

Si'ciiH niitli'T'tl fndii llin ofciui-tiilc: 

Tlimiu'li \vcii.i-y waves ar(; Miiiik lo rent, 

'I"li('i'(^ 'm noii(!"williiii liiM riiliT's lircast ; 

Anil tlioii^'li Io-iimhtow'm Ii'1ii|iimI lour, 

"ris caliiicr lliaii lliv lifarl, yoiiii;^- (liaoiir!* 

J know tlici! \u>\., I loallii: lliy rw\:, 

]{iil, in tliy liiKianicnlH I (race 

What tiiiii' shall sli'cn(,Mhcn, not cllaci; : 

'l'hoii;:h yoiin;.'- ami pale, that, sallow front; 

Js s<M,lJi(ul by liiTy passion's liriiiil; 

'J'honi;li l)(wit, on (''ai'lh thini! evil ey<;, 

As nn;lcoi--lik(; thou ylidest. hy, 

Jli;;hl, w<'ll I vii!W and ilucni th(!(; one 

Wlioni Olhinan's sons shoiiM slay or shun. 

On — on he hasten'd, and he drew 
My K'^^-'' "' wondi'i- as he Hew : 
'I'lioiitih like a demon of the nii^lit 
He pass'd, and vanish'd IVoni iny Hi},^ht, 
His aspect Jiiid his air iniprc.'ss'd 
A trouhlcil iiicniory on my hreast:, 
And lonjf upon my startled ear 
lluni; his dark courser's hoofs of Icur. 
He spurs his stceil; he n(!ii.rs the steep, 
'J'hat, jultin^T, sliiidows o'er the deej) ; 
H<! winds aionnd; hi; hnriies by; 
'J"he i-ock relieves him from mine eye; 
I''or well I ween iiiiwclconie he 
Whose glance is fix'd on those that, Mee; 
And not, a stai- hut shines too hiMKlit 
(hi iiini who takes sneji timeless lli;;ht. 
H(! wound alon^; hut ere he pass'd 
One f,'laiice lie snatch'd, as if his last, 
A moment eheck'd his wliei'lin;;' steed, 
A moment hrialhed him from his speed, 
A moment on his stirrup stood — 
Why looks he o'er the olive wood ? 
The eri;scent glimmers on llie hill. 
'J'lie Mosipuj's hi^rh lamiis are ijiiivirin;,' still : 
'J"hou;.;h too remote for sound lo wake 
In (echoes of tin; far lopliarkc.f 
'J'lie tlashes of each Joyous peal 
Arc Hcen to prove the Moslem's zeal. 
To-nij^cht, set Khama/ani's sun; 
To-lii«lit, the IJairum feast 's heynri; 
■i'o-nijjhl — Iml who and what ait thou 
Of foreign ^'arh and fearful brow ? 
And what are Ihesc to thine or thee, 
That lliou shouldst either pause or lh!C ? 

He stood — somi! dread was on liis face, 
Soon Jlatred settled in its jilac^c : 

t "Ti.i>liiilkn,"mii'<k(a. — TlK! JJalnim Ih (iniiounccil liv llic onnnoii af huiihH ; 
Ihc illiiinliiiilloii ofllK! rii<.H<|iH!H, iiMil the tiring olull kliiUii oritiiiull iirMiH, loiiiU'il 
wltli liall. proclaim It ilurliiK tin; iiliilit. 



76 '/'///: (iiAorn. 

Tt voso \w{ Willi tl\o rciliU'iiiiii;- lltisli 

or traiwii'iU Anger's li!i>ily l>liisli, 

Hill juilo !i-< innriili' o'or llio loml), 

Whose o-liii-illy wliilciu'ss niils its ylinim. 

His lirow Wiis hi'ul, liis I'vo \v;is lilazcil ; 

lit" i;iisril liis nrm, ;iiul tiiTcoly niisoil, 

And slcriily siio.)|< liis li;iiul im liiyii, 

As iliMiliiiiiV 111 roliirii or lly : 

lnil)!ilioiil ol' his llii;hl (h'hiy'il, 

lliMV h)iitl liis I'Mvcii chnini-r uoiji'hM — 

l)owii ■ihinccil lliMl hiiiul, siiul i;riis|iM his hliulo-, 

Thill soiiiul li;ul bursi liis wakiiiu' ilivimi, 

As SluilllxT slMl'ls 111 owU-l's SCIVlllll. 

Tho si>iir h;illi limccil his coiirsor's sitlos; 

Aw;iy, !n\;iv, lor lil'i' ho riilos : 

Swifi lis Ihi' luniM on hiu'h ji'i'i'i'cil* 

iSiiriii^s lo lht> loiii'ii liis slarlloil stood; 

Tin- rook is douhlod, aiul iho slioro 

iShiikos wiih iho oliilloriii^- Iriinip no more; 

'l"ho oniL;' is won, no luoio is soon 

His Christian orosl ami hanjrhty n\iou. 

"I'was hut 111) instani ho rosirainM 

Thiit (iory harh so sU'rnly roiiiM; 

"I'was hill a monionl Ihal ho slooil, 

Tlion sjn'il as il' hy doalli pnrsiu'd : 

lint in thai iiwiani o'or his soul 

A\iiilors ol' Moniory sooni'd lo roll, 

And !;'atlior in lhal ilrop of linio 

A lit'o of (lain, an au'o of orimo. 

O'or him wiio lovos, or halos, or foars, 

Siioh luomonl |ionrs Iho yriot' of yoars : 

\\hal Toll /if tlu'ii. at onoo oi>i)rost 

\U all thai most dislraols Iho hroast ? 

'I'lial paiiso, whioh iiondor'd o'or his I'ato, 

Dh, who its droary lonulh shall ilato! 

'riioiijih in 'I'imo's rooord noarly noii-^ht, * 

It was Kloriiily to 'l'hoiii;lit ! 

For inliniti" as hoiiiulloss spaoo 

'I'ho ihoiiu'hl lhal Coiisoioiioo must omhnico, 

M'hioh in ilsolf oaii oomprohond 

A\'oo without uanu>, or liopo, or ouil. 

Tho hour is imsl, Iho (iiaonr is none; 
And did ho tly or fall alono ? 
\\"oo to thai hour ho oamo or wont! 
Tho ourso for Hassan's sin was sout 
To turn a palaoo to a tomh: 
\\c oamo, ho wont, liko Iho Simoom, t 
That tiarhiuiror of I'ato and jjloom, 

• .Tf nvoti, or Itjorrtd, n hliiiitod Turkish Juvolln, wliU-h Is darted from liorso- 
liiirk Willi niviit Voivn mid i>ivi'l>ioii. It Is a t^vorlto cxoivlso of tlio Miissul- 
iiiaiis; Init 1 know imi ii li i:iii lie lalU'd a iininly one, siiioo Iho most oxport In 
tho art aiv llio lihuk oiiiuuhs oi'c.nistaiitliioiilo. " 1 think, noxt lo Ihoso, a Mam- 
loiik at Siiiyrna was tho most skilllil that oamo within mv ohsorvatioii. 

t I'iio liliist ot'tho dosort, fatal to o\oi\ thins; liviiijj, and otU-ii alludod to In 
Kastorn iiooii'v. 



'/•///•; (II \(>vn. 

Bpnciitli wlioMc widrlv-WMsliiij,^ liroiilh 
Tin- vi'r\- cviiri'Hs (lro(i|)s lu (Iciilli — 
Diirli tivc, slill MMil wIjiii ollicis* i^iMcfis (led, 
'J'lii^ only ciiii-iliuil inicr ii'ci' llu' ilfad ! 

'I'Ik! hIcccI is viuiisliM IViiiu llic slid! ; 
Nit sitI" is si'cii ill IIiismiu'm iiull ; 
'i'lii^ lonely S|>idcr's lliiii jiiiiy |>all 
Wiivcs slowly wiilciiiii^' o'er (lie Willi; 
'J'lii' Itiil liiiil'ds ill ids lliirciii liowcr, 
Ami ill I 111' lorlri'ss ol' Ids power 
'i'lii! Owl iisiii|)s (111! heiicoii-lower; 
The wild-do;;- howls o'er the rolllllilili's hfiiii, 
Willi biilllid lldrst, :md luiliiiie, ^riiii; 
I'"or the siiciiiii hiis shniiik IVoiii ils iiiaihle bed, 
Where the weeds mid the desolale ililsl, lU'e spreml. 
"rwilH NWeel of yore to set! il pliiy 
And ehlise llie siillriliess ol" day, 
Ah si)riii;;in^ iii;;li (Ik; silver dew 
III whirls raiilaslieiilly Hew, 
And llilii;;' hiMirioiiHeiioliiess round 

'J'he iiir, and veidiire o'er Hie ^ro |. 

"I'was sweel, when elondlesM slars were hri,",ht, 

'J'o view the wave of watery liKht) 

And hear its melody hy niyhl. 

And of! had llassan'M (.'hildhood play'tl 

Around the ver(;e of that easeiiiii! ; 

Ami nil upon his niotlier's hnaisl, 

'I'hal, sound \\m\ liarinoni/ed his rest; 

And ol'l had lliissan's Voiilh aloii;,' 

J(s haiil< heen soothed hy Heaiily's HOlifj; 

And Holler seein'd each inelliii;;' lono 

Of Music min;;ieil wilh its own. 

]iiit, ne'er hIimII llassitirH A^i; ri'prmo 

Alon^j tlu^ hiiiiU at 'rwili;.;hl's close? : 

'I'hi- slreuin Ihal HUM lliiil foul is lied— 

'J'hi! hlood lliat warni'd his hi'iirl is shell ! 

And here no more shall hninan voieo 

Hi; lieiird to rii^ic, re;;rel, reioiee. 

The last Had nole tlia,t swell il t.lii' «;alt) 

Was woman's wildest, fiineiiil wail : 

I'IkU (pieiieli'd in silei , all is still, 

Kill the hiliiee that Haps when lln? wind is Mhrill; 

Tlioil;;h nives the fi'lisl, and Hoods Uii; niin, 

Mo hand hIuiII close its clasp ii;;ii.in. 

On desert HiindH 'twere Joy to HCiui 

'J'lii! rudest, steps of fellow-man, 

Ho here the very voici- ofdrief 

Ali;^lit wake an'lv'ho like relief — 

At least 'twould say, " All are not, (iono ; 

'I'here lin^icrs Life, llion;,Hi lull in one" — 

J-'or many a gilded clianili<'r's there, 

Which Solitude mi;;lil well lorliear; 

Within that dome as yet Decay 

Hath slowly work'd her eanUerinj,^ wiiy — 

Jlnt Kli'i-'ni '» K'H''"'''! "'''' l^'"-' i^^^^t 



77 



78 Tin: artorn. 

Nor there the Fiilcir's self will wait: 

Nor there will ■wiiiuleririjr Dervise stay, 

For homity cliecrs ii(i( his (IcImv ; 

Nor there will weiiry sti;iii^;('r )i:ilt 

To hless till' Siiered '" hre;ui iuul salt."* 

Alike iiiiisl WeMllh iiiul Poverty 

]'ass heedless and unheeded liy, 

l*'oi' Coiirlesy and Tity died 

\\'ith Hassan on the momilain side. 

His roof, lh;it refu^ie unto men, 

Is Uesdhiliiin's liiini;ry den. 
The fullest llii's liie IimII, aiid tlie vassal from lahor, 
yinee his turiian was clil'l by the Inliilel's sabre If 

I hear (he sonnd of eominfj feet, 
IhU no( a voice mine ear to ^'rcet ; 
]\!oi-e near — eaeh turban 1 i-an seaii, 
And silver-sheatlied ata^han;}; 
The foremost of the band is seen 
j\n ICmir by his i;iirb of jireen : ^^ 
" Ho! who" art thon ?"— "This low salam || 
Keplies of Moslem faith 1 am." 
"The hnrden ye so uently hear 
Seems one IhnI claims your ntmost eare, 
And, donlillcss, holds some iireeious freiy:ht, 
;My Imndile liarlv would gladly wait." 

"Thou speaUest sooth; thy skitf nmtioor. 
And watt us from the silent shore ; 
Nay, leave the s;ul still furl'd, and ply 
'J'he nearest oai' that's scntter'd by, 
And midway totiiose rocks where sleep 
The ehannel'd waters d;irk and deep. 
Host from youi' task- so— bravely done. 
Our course has been riuht swill ly run; 
Yi't 'tis the lonjj^est voyane, 1 trow 
That one of — " 

Sullen it phinj^-ed, and slowly sank, 
The ealm wave ri(iplcd to the fiaidc ; 
I wateh'd it as it snnk ; nuiiiou^ht 
Some motion from tlic cui'reul caught 

• To pnrtako of food, to brentc lirond niid .suit with your host. Insures the 
safety of tlio (jaest : even tliouijli an enemy, his iiorsou IVoin that moment Is 
saered. 

t I need hnrdly observe, that Charity and Hospitality are the tlrst duties en- 
joined 1)V Ulnlianiiued, and, ti> say truth, very Kenerally practised hy his disci- 
ples, 'rlie lli-st pnilse that can lie bostuwed' on a chief, is ii panegyric on lii.s 
boinity; the lu'xi. on Ids valor. 

i 'liie atiiKhaii. a Ions; dasjtrer worn with pistols In the belt, In a metal scab- 
bard, generally of silver; and. amunt; (lie wealthier, Kill, or of ni'ld. 

ij Creen is liu' privile).M'd color of the Trciplicl's uiuucroiis pretended deseend- 
an'ts; with them, as here, faith (ll'e family inheritance) is supposed to super- 
sede the necessity of good works : they ine the worst of a very iudlllcrcnt 
brood. 

|l "Salam alelUoum! nlclkoum salam!" — " Peneo lie with vou: be with you 
pence,"— the salutation reserved for the I''althl\d ;— to a Christian. " Urlarula ! " 
— " \ Rood journey ; " or, " Saban hiresem, sal)aM scrota " — " (5ood morn, pood 
even;" and souictimcs, "May your end bo hapiy," —arc the usual salutes. 



THE GIAOUR. 79 

Bostii'r'd it iiion:, — '(wiis l)iit the l)f':im 

'i'liiit <:lic(|iicrM o'er lliu living'- strcaiu: 

J f,''!>;';cil, till v;iiii>liiii;f (roiii view, 

Ijikc Ic'ssciiiiij^' |)cl)l)i(! it, witlidrcw; 

Still less iiiid less, ii, speck of wliiti' 

Tlisit ti'cimiiM IIk; lido, then niouk'd the siylit; 

Ami idl its luddcii secrets sleep, 

Known hut to (KMiil of the deep. 

Which, ti-enihlin;,'' in their coral caves, 

Tliey dare not whisjier to the waves. 

As risiiifr on its ])iirplc win<j 
The insccl-fpiccn of ]Castcrn snrinjj,* 
O'er oincrald meadows of (Jaslinicrc 
Invites the yoiin;;' jiin'snc'r ncai', 
And leads hini on from ilowci' to flower 
A weary clias(^ and wasted hour, 
Th(;n leaves him, as it soars on hi^^li. 
With jiantinj,'- heart and tcaii'nl v\u : 
80 ]$eauty lnr<;s the full-^irown child. 
With hue as hri^.dit, and win<; us wild; 
A chase of idl(' hopes and fi'ars, 
]Je;,''un in folly, closed in tears. 
If won, to e(|ual ills hclra^'Vl, 
AVoo wails the insec't and the maid; 
A life of i)ain, the loss of peace, 
I'^i'om infant's play, and man's caprice: 
The lovely toy so fiercely souj^ht 
Ilatlilost its chiirni by heinj,' cau;rht. 
For (^'ci'y touch that woo'd its stay 
Ifath hriish'd ils l)ii;:htest hues away. 
Till charm, and hue, and beauty itfonc, 
'Tis left to ily or fall alone. 
With wounilcd wintr, oi- blecdinfr breast, 
Ah! where; shall either victim rest? 
('an this with faded pinion soar 
From rose to tulip as befoi-c ? 
Or JJeauty, bli;:liled in an hour. 
Find joy within hei' broken bower; 
No: gayer insects fluttering' by 
Ne'er di'oo]) the wing o'er those that die, 
And lovelier things have mercy shown 
To every failing but their own. 
And every woe a tear can claim 
Except an erring sister's shame. 

The Mind, that broods o'er guilty avoch, 

Is like tlie ,Scor))ion gii't by fire, 
In circl(! narrowing as it glows, 
1'he flames around thcii' ca|)tive close, 
Till inly seareb'd by thousand throes. 

And maddening in her ire, 
One sad and sole r(^lief she knows, 
The sting she nourish'd for her foes, 

• Tlic tjluc-wlDgcd butterlly of CuhIiiiiitc, ilic iiioHt rare and tjcuutlful of tin; 
ipccics. 



80 THE GIAOUR. 

Whose vc'iioiu novel- yet was vain, 
Ctives but one ]1:^ll^•, aiul cures all pain, 
Ami darts into her ilesperate hrain : 
So ilo tiie (lark in soul expire, 
Or live like Scorpion ^^irt hy fire; * 
So writhes the niiiul Ivemorse hath riven, 
Unfit lor eartl), iinilouin'd I'nr lieaven, 
l)arkne-is aliove, despair lieneath, 
Around it Ihinie, witliiii it death! 

IJlaelc Hassan i'roni the llnrein flies, 
Nor bends on woman's form his eyes; 
The unwonted ehase eaeli hour employs, 
Yet shares he not the hunter's Joys. 
Not thus was Hassan wont to fly 
When Leila dwelt in his fSt'rai. 
Polh Leila there no longer dwell? 
"I'hat tale can only Hassan tell : 
Strange rumors in our eity say 
itjion that eve she lied away 
When Khamazan's last sun^was sct,t 
And llashinu- iVom eaeh minaret 
Millions of lam])s proelaim'd the feast 
Of liairaiu throtiu'li the boundless East. 
"fwas then she wee.t as to the liath, 
\\'hich Hassan vaiidy seareh'd in wrath: 
l-'or she was llown her master's rag'o 
In likeness of a (ieor^^'iaii jiaii-c. 
And far lieyond the ISIoslem's i)ower 
Had wron^'d him with the faithless Giaoui'. 
Somewhat of this had Hassan deetn'd : 
]>ut still so fond, so fair she seeui'd. 
Too well he trusti'd to the slave 
^^'hose treachery deserved a grave : 
And on that eve had gone to inosqnc, 
And thence to least in his kiosk. 
Such is the tale his Nid>ians tell. 
Who did not watch their charge loo well; 
But others say, that cm tliat nii;ht, 
By pale I'hiugari's trembling light,! 
Tlie (iiaoiu- upon his jet-black steed 
Was seen, l)ut seen alone, to s()eed 
With bloody spin- along the shore, 
Nor nmid nor page behind him bore. 

Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell, 
But gaze on that of the (Jazelle, 
It will assist thy fancy well : 

* AllutliiiK til tliC tliililiMis siiirido i)f tlio scorpion, so placod tor pxpcriniotit by 
geiillo pliiluso|iluM-s. Soino maiiinnii tlmt tho position of llic slinj;. wlu-u tununt 
townnls Ihc lu'Mil, is lurrcly ii coiiviil^ivo nio\ciiiont ; lint otlicfs have actually 
bi-oiti;lit 111 llio vcnlicl, ■• Kclo (Ic so." The scorpions arc snrcly inlcrcstoil in ii 
siH'cily decision ol' ilic iincsiion; as, it Once fairly established as insect C'atos, 
they will piiilialily lie allowed to live as long as they think proper, without being 
martyred lor llie sake of an hypothesis. 

I The cannon at snnset close the Khamazan. See page 75, note t 

J The moon. 



rJIE GTAOUR. 81 

As lar<ro, as I;iii;j;uisliiiit;ly dnrk, 

Vt\\{ iSniil l)c;iiiiM I'ortli in c\c'rv spark 

Tii;it (liirled I'nnu iH^iiciilli tlu''li(l, 

l)ri;^lit us tlic jowi'l ol' ( nuinschid.* 

Yc;i, Soul, iiiiil should our I'rophct say 

That form was noiiLllit hut hnalliiDg clay, 

l>y A Hah ! 1 would auswor uav ; 

Thou;:-ii on Al-Siral's arch I stood,! 

Whicli tollers o'er llic iicry flood, 

AV'illi J'aradisc within my view, 

And all his llouris hccUoniu;,'' throu;;h. 

Oh ! who yoMii^'' Leila's ;ilaiice could read 

And keep that i)ortion ot' his creed, 

"Which sailh that woman is hut dust, 

A soulless toy for tyrant's lust ? I 

On her might ISIuflis ga/.e, and own 

That tiii-ough her eye the Immortal slioue ; 

On her fair cheek's unfailing hue 

The young pomegranate's blossoms strew} 

Their hlooni in hlushes ever new: 

Ilcr hair in hvaciuthine How. {] 

WluMi left toVoll its folds beiow, 

As 'midst her handmaids in tiie hall 

She stood sujierior to them all. 

Hath swept the marble where licr feet 

Gleani'd whiter than the mountain sleet, 

Ere from tlie cloud that gave it birth 

It fell, ajid cM.unht one stain of earth. 

The cygnet nobly walks the water: 

So moved on earth Circassia's daughter, 

The loveliest bird of Franguestan ! f 

As rears her crest the ruffled Swan, 

Antl spurns the wave with wings of pride, 

When pass the steps of stranger man 
Along the banks that bound her tide ; 

Thns rose fair Leila's whiter neck: — 

Thus arm'd with beauty would she chock 

* The ccU'hi'iitod lalialous riiliy of Saltan Oiamschiii, thfl nnhcllislior of 
Istiikliar; iVoiii its splcmlor, iiaii!((l Sclii>l)>,'C'riif.', " Tlic 'I'oicli of Niylit; " also, 
" Tlie Clip of tlio Sun," .tc. In llic llrst cilitiou, •■ (Jianiscljicl " was written as a 
word of threes fvllahlcs; so D'ljcrliclot lias il; lint I am tokl Hiclianlsoii rcdiicc'g 
it to a di-~syllalpic, and writes ".laiii'-clMil •• I lau-c loft in tlio text tlic ortllog- 
rapliv of liic one Willi tlic iironiiiiciaticm of the otiicr. 

t Al-Sii-al, the lii-id.:;c of lii-cadlli less than llic llii-cad of a famisliod spider, 
over wliieli tlie Miissiiliiians iniisl :\l:alf into I'arailise. to wliieli it is the only en- 
trance; hut this is not the worsi, iIh' ri\crlien('atli heiiiLr hell itself, into wliieli, 
as may lie i-xpeeted, llii' iinsUilliil and tender of loot eoiilrive to tiiinlile with a 
" facilis deseensiis Axcnii," not very pleasin;^ in prospect to the next passenger. 
There is a shorter cut downwards to the .lews and ( 'liri-.tiaiis. 

t A vulvar error t the Koran allots at least a third ot I'aradise to wcU-hchaved 
women; lint hy far the ^.Teater mnnber of Jliissidmans interiiret the text their 
own way, and exeliide iluir inoieiics from heaven. I5eiii'.j enemies to Platonics, 
they canii'it discern " any (iliiess of lhiii,L;s " ill this souls of the other sex, con- 
ceiving' them to 1)1' Mi|iersedcd hy the Iloiiris. 

Si All Oriental siniile, which may, perluips, though fairly stolen, bo deemed 
" plus .\ralie (pieii Arahie." 

Ilyaeinthlne, in .\rnhic "Sinibul;" as common a thought in the Eastern 
poets as it was among the Greeks. 

H Cireassia. 

G 



32 THE GIAOUR. 

lutnision's gflsnicc, till Folly's p'aze 
Slii-uiik iVoni the ohiinns it meant to praise: 
Thus hijili and fi-raeeful was her gait; 
Her heart as tender to her mate; 
Her mate — stern Hassan, who was he ? 
Alas ! that name was not for thee ! 

Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en 
With twenty vassals in his train, 
Each arni'd, as best becomes a man, 
With arqueliuse and atajihan ; 
The chief before, as deck'd for war, 
Bears in his belt the scimitar 
Stain'd with the i)est of Arnaut blood, 
When in the pass the i-ebels stood, 
And few return'd to tell the talc 
Of what befell in Parne's vale. 
The pistols whii'h his jiirdle bore 
Were those that once a pacha woi'C, 
Which still, though gemm'djind boss'd with gold, 
Even robbers tremble to behold. 
'Tis said he goes to woo a bride 
INIoro true than her who left his side; 
The faithless slave that broke her bower. 
And, worse tlian faithless, for a Ciiaour ! 

The sun's last rays arc on the hill. 
And sparkle in the" fountain rill. 
Whose welcome waters, cool and clear, 
Draw blessings from the mountaineer; 
Here may the loitering merchant Greek 
Find that repose 'twere vain to seek 
In cities lodged too near his lord, 
And trembling for his secret hoard — 
Here may he rest where none can see, 
In crowd's a slave, in deserts free; 
And with forbiildcn wine may stain 
The bowl a jSIoslem must not drain. 

The foremost Tartar 's in the gap, 
Conspicuous by his yellow cap ; 
The rest in leiigtheninu- line the while 
Wind slowly through the long detile : 
Above, the mountain rears a peak. 
Where vult\ircs whet the thirsty beak; 
And theirs may be a feast to-night, 
Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light; 
Beneath, a river's wintry stream 
Has shrunk before the sunnncr beam. 
And left a channel bleak and bare, 
Save shrubs that spring to ]ierish there: 
Each side the midway path there lay 
Small broken crags of granite gray, 
By tinu^, or mountain lightning, riven 
From suuuuilsclad in mists of heaven; 



THE GIAOUR. 83 

For where is he tliul hath helield 
The peak of Llaktira uiiveil'd ? 

They reaeh the grove of pine at last: 
" Bisniilhili ! now the peril 's i)ast ; * 
For yonder view the opcninj^- plain, 
Andthere we'll prick our steeds amain : " 
The C'hiaiis spake, and as he said, 
A hullet whistled o'er his head; 
The foremost Tartar bites the ground ! 

Scarce had they time to check the i-cin, 
Swift from Iheir steeds the riders hound; 

l>ut three shall never mount again : 
Unseen the foes that gave the wound, 

The dying ask revenge in vain. 
With steel unsheath'd, and carbine bent, 
Some o'er their courser's harness leant, 

Half sheltcr'd by the steed ; 
Some fly behind the nearest rock, 
And there await the coming shock, 

Kor tamely stand to bleed 
Beneath the shaft of foes unseen. 
Who dare not (juit tiieir craggy screen. 
Stern Hassan only from his horse 
Disdains to li;;ht, and keeps his course, 
Till fiery Hashes in the van 
Proclaim too sure the robber-clan 
Have well secured the onl^' way 
Could now avail the promised prey; 
Then curl'd his very beard with ire.f 
And glared his eye with fiercer fire : 
"Though I'ar anil near the bullets hiss, 
I've 'scaped a bloodier hour than this." 
And now the foe their covert qiat. 
And call his vassals to submit; 
But Hassan's frown and furious word 
Are dreaded nu)re than hostile sword, 
Nor of his little band a man 
Resign'd carbine or ataghan, 
Nor raised the craven cry, Amann ! J 
In fuller sight, more near and near, 
The lately auibush'd foes appear, 
And, issuing from the grove, advance 
Some who on battle-charger prance. 
Who leads them on with foreign brand, 
Far ilashing in liis red right hand ? 
" 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 1 know him now ; 
I know him by his pallid brow ; 

* Bismillah — "In the name of (lod;" (lio commencement of all the chapters 
of the Koran but one, and of prayers and thanksf^ivintrs. 

t A phenomenon not uncommon witli an aiiyry Mussulman. In W)d. the 
Cupitan l'aclia"s whiskers at a <liplomatic audience were no less lively with 
InJisnatiou than a tifjer-eafs, to the horrorof all tlic draKonians; the portentous 
mustaeliios t\vi^l(■d. they stood erect of their own accord, and were expected 
every moment to cliiuif,'e tlieir color, but at last condescended to subside, which 
probably saved ninrc heads tlian they contained hairs. 

J •' Amaun," quarter, pardon. 



84 THE GIAOUR. 

I know him by tlic evil eye * 

That aids his envious treaehery; 

I know hiui l)y his jet-hlack harb: 

Thoii^;h now ;irr:iy\l in Avnant '^xvh. 

Apostate IVoni his own vile I'aitli, ^ 

It shall not save him I'roni the death: 

'Tis he ! well met in any hour, 

Lost Leila's love, aeeiirsed Giaour!" 

As rolls the river into ocean, 
In sable torrent wildly streaniins'; 

As the sea-title's oiiposini;- motion, 
In azure eolunin iiroudly uleamiuy, 
Beats hack tlie eurrent many a rood. 
In eurlin^' foam and min;4linji' Hood, 
While eddying- wlurl, and breaking' wave, 
Roused by the blasts of winter, rave; 
Throui;'li*sparkliuy spray, in thundering clash, 
The lif:htuiUL;s ol' the waters Hash 
In awi'id wldleuess o'er the shore. 
That shines anil shakes bcnerrtii the roar; 
Thus — as the stream and ocean jjreet. 
With waves that madden as they meet — 
Thus join the baiuls, whom nmtual wrong, 
Anil Tale, and I'ury, ih'ive along. 
The biekeriug salires' sliiveriug jar ; 

And pealing wide or ringing near 

Its echoes on the throl)bing ear, 
The death-shot hissing I'rom alar; 
The shock, the shout, the groan of war, 

Ilevcrberate along that vale, 

More suited to the shepherd's talc : 
Though few the numbci's — theirs the strife, 
That neither spares iu)r speaks for life! 
Ah ! fondly youthful hearts can press, 
To seize ami share the dear caress; 
But Love itself could never pant 
For all that Beauty sighs to grant, 
With half the fervor llate bestows 
Upon the last endtrace of foes, 
A\'hcn grapiilin;:- in the tight they fold 
Those arms that ne'ei' shall lose their hold : 
Friends meet to part; Ijove laughs at faith; 
True foes, once met, are join'd till death ! 

With sabre shiver'd to the hilt. 
Yet dripping with the blood he spilt; 
Yet strain'd within the scver'd hand 
Which quivers round that faithless brand; 
His turban far behind him roll'd, 
And cleft in twain its firmest fold; 
His flowing robe by falchion torn. 
And crimson as those clouds of morn 

* The " evil eye," a. common siiperstition in the Levant, anil of wliiili tlie 
iniasiiiary ollccts uro yet very sinyaliu' on tliose who conceive tlieinselves 
allceted. 



THE GTAOrn. 85 

That, strcakM with ihisky red, portend 

The clay shall havi- a storniy end ; 

A stain on every iiii-ih that iiore 

A frafrnient of liis palampore,* 

His hreast witli wounds luinuuihcr'd riven, 

Ilis hack to earth, iiis face to heaven, 

Fall'n Hassan lies — his unclosed eye 

Yet lourin^^ on his enemy. 

As if tlic hour that seal'i'l his fate 

Siirvivinji' left his (juenehless hate; 

And o'er him hends that foe, with In-ow 

As dark as his that hied helow. — 

" Yes, Leila sleeps hcncath the wave, 
But his shall he a reilder ^rave ; 
Her spirit pointed well the steel 
Which taii^rht that felon heart to feel. 
He call'd the I'rophet, hut his power 
Was vain ajrainst the venjreful (Jiaour: 
He call'd on Allah — hut the word 
Arose unheedeil or unheard. 
Thou Paynim fool ! could Leila's prayer 
Be pass'il, and thine accorded there ? 
I watch'd my time, I lea^xucd with these. 
The traitor in his turn to seize; 
My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done. 
And now I j^cj — Ijut go alone." 



The hrowsinjr camels' hells arc tinkling: 
His Mother look'd irom her lattice hlixh — 

She saw the dews of eve hesprinkling 
The pasture frreen heneath her eye, 

She saw the planets faintly' twmklinj^ : 
""lis twilijiht — sure his train is ni;ih." 
She could not rest in the jrarden-hower. 
But frazed throu^^h the fjrate of his steepest tower: 
" Why coracs he not ? his steeds arc lleet, 
Xor shrink they from the summer heat; 
Why sen<ls not the Bridc^rroom his promised gift? 
Is his heail more cohl, or his harb less swift ? 
Oh, false reproach ! yon Tartar now 
Has {^ain'd our nearest mountain's brow. 
And warily the steep flescends. 
And now within the valley bends; 
And he i)ears the jrift at his saddle-bow — 
How could 1 deem his c:ourser slow ? 
Bight well my largess shall repay 
His wclcoiuc speetl, and >v'eaiy w ay." 

The Tartar lighted at the gate, 
But scarce upheld his fainting weight; 
His swarthy visage spake distress. 
But this mfght be from weariness; 

The flowered sliawls generally worn tty persons of rank. 



SG TIJJS GIAOUR. 

His <i':nb with siuif^'iiiiio siiots was dycil, 
But tlu'se iiiiuht 1)L- \\\m\ his courser's side; 
He drew tlie token from his vest — 
Aiij;el of death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest! 
His ealpae* rent — his eal'tau red — 
"Lady, a fearful hride thy (Sou hath wed: 
!Me, not I'roui nierey, did they spare, 
But this euipurphd ph'dj^e to bear. 
Peace to the hrave ! Vv-hose hk)od is spilt: 
Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt." 

A turhan carved in eourscst stonc,t 
A pillar with rank weeds o'erj;rowu, 
AV hereon I'an now he scarcely read 
The Koran verse that nuuirns the dead, 
I'oint out the spot wlicre ILassau fell 
A victim in that lonely dell. 
There sleeps as true au Osuuxnlic 
As e'er at Mt-cca lient the knee; 
As ever scorn'd forliiddeu wine, 
Or pray'd with face towanlsThe shrine, 
In orisons resumed anew 
At solemn sound of " Allah Hn ! " + 
Yet died he by a stranger's hand, 
And stranger in his native land; 
Yet died he as in anus he stood, 
And unavenged, at least in blood. 
lUit him the maids of Paradise 

Impatient to their halls invite, 
And the dark Heaven of llouris' eyes 

C)n him shall glance for ever bright; 
They come — their kerehicfs green ihey wave,^ 
And welcome with a kiss the brave! 
AVho falls iu battle 'gainst a (Jiaour 
Is worthiest an iunnortal bower. 

But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe 
Beneath avenging Monkir's scythe ; || 

» The calpac Is llic solid or coiitri' pait ot' llio lioad-dross; tlic sliawl is wound 
round it, and t"onus tlio tin-liun. 

t Tlu' tiirliiui, iilllar, and in>orii>livo verso, docoriito tlio tonilis ot" tlio Os;.ian- 
lios, wlu'tlur in llio conu'tii\ or tlic wildonii'ss. In tlio mountains you irc- 
quontly i>;\ss similar moniontos; and on inciuiry you aro intbruiod tliat titey 
rooord somo viotini of rolullion, plUMdor, or ivvonso. 

% '• Allali Uu ! " tlio oonoludiii^.' words of tlio JIuozzin's call to prayor from tlio 
lii,i;host gallon- on tlio oxtorior ot' tlio niinaiot. On a still ovouiiij;. wliou tlio 
Wiiozzin has a lino voioo, whioli is lio(iuoiitly the caso, tliu olfoct is solomu and 
boautil'iil liovond all tlio liolls in Cliristondoui. 

§ Tlio tolU)\viii^' is part of a liattlo-soui; of tlio Turks:—" I set.> — I sec n dark- 
ey'od jjirl of I'anidiso, and sho wavos a liiiudkoroliicf, a korcliief of sreen ; and 
cl'ios aloud, 't'onio, kiss iiio, tor I lovo tlioo,"" .Vo. 

I Jloukir and Nokir aio llio iiKiuisitors of tlio dead, before whom the eorpse 
iuider;;ocs a sli.ulit lunitialo and proparatory trainiiiK for dauniation. It ilio 
answers aro none of the oloaiost, ho is iKuilod up with a soytlie and llunnpoil 
down vitli a rod-hot niaoo till pi-opoily soasonod, with a variety of sulisidiary 
jUMhations. 'I'lio otlioo of those anuels'is no sinoeuro; there are Imt t«o, and 
the numhor of orthodox deooasod lioiuy in a small proportion to the remaiuder, 
llioir hands are always lull. 



TUR GIAOUR. 87 

Ami from it-: tonnciit 'sc:i|H' tiloiic 
To Wiuiik'i- I'lmiiil lost lOhlis' lliroiio;* 
And liru iiniiiu'iicliM, uii(|iu'aclial)le, 
Arotiiid, williin, tliy licart shall dwell; 
Nor Oiu- can lioar nor tonjjcuc can tull 
The torUiruH of that inwai-d hell ! 
But first, on carlh as \'anii)irc scnt.f 
Thy corse shall from its toml> be rent: 
Tli'eu ^liasllv liaunt thy native ])lace, 
And Slick Ih'e Mood of' all thy race: _ 
There from thy (lau;;hter, sister, wife, 
At niidnij^lit drain llio stream of life; 
Yet loathe the haniiuot which perforce 
INInst feed thy livid livin;^- corse: 
1'liy victims ci'e they yet exi)ire 
yiiall know the demon for their sire, 
As cnrsin;;' thei^, thou eursin^r them, 
Thy llowers an; wither'd on the stem. 
But one that for thy crime must fall, 
The younjicst, most beloved of all, 
Shall bless thee with a fat/icr's name — 
That word shall wra|i iliy heart in ilame ! 
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark 
Her cheelc's last tin^t', her eye's last spark. 
And the last <ilassy f;lance nuist view 
Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue; 
Then with unhallow'd hand shalt tear 
The tri'sses of her yellow hair, 
Of which in life a lock when shorn 
Atlection's fondest pled^^'e was worn; 
But now is boru(! away by Ihec, 
INlemorial of thine ai^ony ! 
Wet with thine own best blood shall drip J 
Tin- ^nashin^- tooth and hai^-yard lip; 
Then stalkin;^- to thy sullen t;'rave, 
(io — and with (iiioiils and Afrits rave; 
Till these in horror shrink away 
From spectre more accursed than they ! 

'•ilow name ye yon lone Caloycr ? 

His fi;atures I "have scann'd before 
In mine own land : 'tis many a year, 

Since, dashinj>' by the lonely shore, 
I saw him nv^c as lleet a steed 
As ever served a horseman's need. 

» Klilis, (ho Oriontiil Prince of Darkness. 

+ 'I'lic Vainiiirc Kiiperstition is still (.'ciicrMl in llio r.cvniit. llonost IniinTcfort 
fells a loUK' storv, Avlilcli Mr. Sinitlii'y, in liis luitcs on "Tluihihii," iiiiulcs, iiliDiit 
Ihcsc " Vnmcoiodias," iis he calls tliciii. Tho Uoiiiaic term is " Vanloiilnchii. 
I i-cccllcct IX whole liuiiilv liciiiK tcmllcil l.y tlic scream ol a cliiM. wliicli lliey 
liiiaL'iiieil must procccil iVoiii sucli a visilaliou. Tiio ( IreeUs never iMeiilioii tlio 
wi>nl without horror. I lliul tliat " liroiieoIoUas " is an old le-ilimale llelloiiit: 
apiicllatioii— at leas, is .so applied lo Arseuiils, who, aeeonliii^' to tiie (.n'l'lcs, 
was alter his iloatli nniuiatca by tlio devil — Tliu moderns, however, use the 

"i''riie'tVeslmess of the face, and the wetness of the Up with blood, nro flio 
never-failiii;; siyiis of a Vampiie. The stories tolil In Hungary and (ireece ol 
these foul feeders are .singular, and some of them most incredibly allesled. 



SS THE GIAOUR. 

Ent once I saw that face, yet then 
It was so luarkM with inward pain, 
I could not )iass it hy a^ain; 
It breathes tlie s;imc dark spirit now, 
As death were stanii/d upon his brow." 
" 'Tis twice three years at summer tide 

Since tirst umoni;' our iV.res lie came; 
And here it soothes him to abide 

For some tlark deed he will not name. 
But never at our vesper prayer, 
Nor o'er before confession chair 
Kneels he, nor recks he when arise 
Incense or anthem to the skies; 
But broods within his cell alone, 
His faith and race alike unknown. 
The sea from Paynim laud he crost, 
And here ascended from the coast; 
Yet seems he not of Othman race, 
But only Christian in his face: 
I'd juilne him souu^ stray renejiade, 
Eepcutaut of the change he iimdc, 
Save that he slums our holy shrine, 
Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. 
Great lar;jess to these walls he broug-ht, 
And thus oiu' abbot's favor bought; 
But were I jirior, not a day 
Should l)rook such stranuer's further stay. 
Or pent within our penance cell 
Should doom him tl-.ere for aye to dwell. 
Blncli in his visions mutters he 
C)f maiilen wbehn'd beneath the sea : 
Of sabres clashini;-, focnien llyinu', 
Wronjrs rtven^;-ed, and Moslem dying'. 
On clilf he hath been known to stand, 
And rave as to some bloody hand. 
Fresh scver'd from its parent limb. 
Invisible to all but him, 
Which beckons onward to his grave, 
And lures to leap into the wave." 

Dark and unearthly is the scowl 

That glares I'.eneat'li his dusky cowl: 

The tlash of that dilating eye 

Reveals too nnieh of times gone hy; 

Though varyini;-, indistinct its hue, 

Oft will his ghuu'c the g:izer rue. 

For in it lurks that uameless spell, 

Which speaks, itself unspeakable, 

A spirit yet unqueU'd and high, 

That claims and keeps .iscendancy; 

And like the bird whose pinions quake. 

But cannot Hy the gazing snake, 

M'ill others (juail beneath his look. 

Nor 'siaiie tl\e glance they scarce can broor<:^ 

From him the half-atfrigrited Yrhxr 

When met alone would fain retire, 



THE GIAOUR. 89 

As if tliMt cyo ami l>ittor siiiilo 

Tran-lVrrM" to oIIuts i'car ami puile : 

Kot ol't to siiiilo lU'scriidrlh lie, 

Anil whcMi lio ilotli 'tis sad to see 

Tliat ho l)ut mocks nt Misciy. 

llow lliat i)a!c lip will curl and quiver! 

Then lix once more as if for ever; 

As if his sorrow or disdain 

Forbade him e'er to smile ajjain. 

Well were it so — such jiiiastly mirth 

From jovaiici? ne'er derived its birth. 

]?Mt sadder still it wore to trace 

What once were feclin;:s in tliat lace; 

Time hath not yet the features fix'd. 

But briu'hter trails with evil mix'd; 

And there are hues not always faded, 

Which speak a mind !iot all (le;zradecl, 

Even by the crimes thron<;h which it waded. 

The common crowd hut see the ^iooni 

Of wayward dct'ds, and llttin^^ doom; 

The close oliserver can espy 

A noble soul, and linea;jre hifih: 

Alas ! thou;:h l)oth bestow'd in vain, 

Which (Jrief could chan;,'-e, and tinilt could stain 

It was no vnlii'ar tenement 

To which such lofty ^iifts were lent, 

And still with little less than dread 

On suc-h tiie siuiit is riveted. 

The rootless cot, decayM and rent, 

Will scai'ce delay the passer-by ; 
The tower by war or tenqiest bent, 
While yet may frown one battlement, 

Demands and daunts the stranger's eye; 
Each ivied arcii, and pillar lone. 
Pleads haughtily for glories gone ! 

" Ilis floating robe around him folding. 

Slow sweeps he through ti;e column'd aisle; 

With dread beheld, with gloom beholding 
The rites that sauctifv the ])ile. 

But when the anliieni sliakes the choir, 

And kneel the monks, ids stei)s retire; 

By yonder lone and waviaing torch 

llis aspect glares within the porch; 

There will he ]iause till all is done — 

And hear the jirayor, but utter none. 

See — 1)V till' half-illnniincd wall 

Ilis hood tly back, his dark hair fall, 

That pale l)r()w wiUlly wrcatiiing round, 

As if the (Jorgon there had bound 

The sahlest of the seri)ent-braiil 

That o'er her fearful forehead stray'd; 

>or he <leelincs the convent oath, 

And lca\es Ibose locks' uuiiallow'd groNvth, 

But wears oui' garb in ;dl l)eside; 

Antl, not from piety i)ut pride, 



90 THE GIAOUR. 

Gives wealth to walls that never heard 

Of liis one lioly vow nor word. 

Lo ! — mark ye, as the harmony 

Peals louder praises to the sky, 

That livid eheek, that stony air 

Of niix'd defiance and despair ! 

Saint Franeis, keeji him from the shrine! 

Else may we dread tlie wrath divine 

Made manifest l)y awful sign. 

If ever evil an;i:el hore 

The form of mortal, such he •wore : 

By all my hope of sins forgiven, 

Sucli looks arc not of earth nor lieaven! " 

To love the softest licarts are prone, 

But such can ne'er he all his own ; 

Too timid in his woes to share, 

Too meek to meet, or lirave despair : 

And sterner hearts alone may feel 

The wound that time can never heal. 

The rnnrged metal of the mine 

Must hurn i)efore its surface shine, 

But plunued within the furnace-llame, 

It bends and melts — though still the same; 

Tlicn, temper'd to thy want, or will, 

'Twill serve thee to defend or kill : 

A breastplate for thine hour of need, 

Or blade to bid tliy foenran bleed ; 

But if a dagger's form it bear. 

Let those who shape its edge, beware! 

Thus passion's fire, and woman's art, 

Can turn and tame the sterner heart ; 

From tliesc its form and tone are ta'en, 

And what they make it, must remain, 

But break — before it bend again. 

If solitude succeed to grief, 

Belease from pain is slight relief; 

The vacant bosom's wilderness 

Might thank the pang that made it less. 

AVe loatlie what none arc left to share : 

Even bliss — 'twere woe alone to bear; 

The heart once left thus desolate 

Must fly at once for ease to hate. 

It is as Lf the dead could feel 

The icy worm around them steal, 

And shudder, as the reptiles creep 

To revel o'er their rotting sleep, 

Without the power to scare away 

The cold consumers of their clay! 

It is as if the desert-bird,* 

Wliosc beak unlocks her bosom's sti'eam 
To still her famish'd nestlings' scream. 

Nor mourns a life to them transfcrr'd, 

» The pelican is, I believe, the bird so libelled, by the imputation of feedinp 
lier cliickens with lier blood. 



THE GIAOUR. 91 

Bhoiild rond her rash devoted hreast, 
And find tiicni flown Iier em)ity nest. 
Tlic keenest panjis the wrctehed find 

Are rapture to tlic dreary void, 
The Icallcss desert oCthe mind, 

The waste of fcelinu's unemploy'd. 
Who would he dooni'd to <;-azc upon 
A sky without a eknid or sun ! 
Less hideous far tlic tempest's roar 
Than ne'er to liravc the billows more — 
Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, 
A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, 
']Mid sullen ealni, and silent bay. 
Unseen to droj) by didl decay; — 
Better to sink beneath the shock 
Than moulder piceemcal on the i-ock! 

" Father ! thy days have pass'd in peace, 

'JSliil counted beads, and countless prayer; 
To bid the sins of others cease, 

Thyself without a crime or care. 
Save transient ills that all must bear, 
Has been thy lot from youth to age; 
And thou wilt bless thee from the rage 
Of passions fierce and uncontroll'd, 
Such as thy penitents unfold. 
Whose secret sins and sorrows rest 
Within thy pure and pitying breast. 
My days, though few, have pass'd below 
In much of Joy, but more of woe ; 
Yet still, in hours of love or strife, 
I've 'scaped the weariness of life: 
Now leagueil with IViends, now girt by foes, 
I loathed the languor of repose. 
Now nothing left to love or luite, 
No more with hojie or pride elate, 
I'd rather be the thing that crawls 
Most noxious o'er a (lungcon's walls. 
Than pass my dull, unvarying days, 
(^oiulemn'd to meditate and gaze. 
Yet, lurks a wish within my breast 
For rest — but not to feel 'tis rest. 
Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil : 

And I shall sleep without the dream 
Of what I was, and would be still. 

Dark as to thee my deeds may seem : 
My memory now is l)ut the tomb 
Ol joys long dead ; my hope, their doom : 
Though better to have died with those 
Than bear a life of lingering woes. 
My spirit shrunk not to sustain 
The searching throes of ceaseless pain; 
Nor sought the sclf-aecorded grave 
Of ancient fool and modern knave : 
Yet death I have not fcar'd to meet; 
And in the field it had been sweet, 



92 THE GIAOUR. 

Had danger woo'd mc on to move 

The slave of filory, not of love. 

I've braved it — not for honor's boast; 

I smile at lanrels won or lost ; 

To siiel: let others carve their way, 

For liiu'li renown, or liirelinjj pay : 

l?nt place a^ain lielbre my eyes 

Au^iit that 1 deem a worthy prize; 

The maid I love, the nnin 1 hate, 

Aiul I will hnnt the steps of fate, 

To save or slay, as these recpiire, 

Through rcndinji; steel, antl roUinjj fire: 

Nor nced'st thon doul)t this speech from one 

Who wonlil but do — what he hatli done. 

Death is hnt what the haii<;hty brave. 

The weak must hear, the wretch nuist crave; 

Then let Life j:o to llini who j^ave; 

I have not qnail'd to danger's brow 

When high anil happy — need I now f 

" I loved her. Friar ! nay, tutored — 

15nt these are words that all can use — 
I proved it more in ileed than word; 
There's blood iipcni that dinted sword, 

A stain its steel can never lose: 
'Twas shed for her, who died for mc. 

It warm'd the heart of one abhorr'd : 
Nay, start not — no — nor bend thy knee, 

Nor 'midst my sins such act record; 
Thou wilt absolve me from the deed. 
For he was hostile to tliy creed : 
The very name of Nazarene 
Was wormwood to his I'aynini spleen. 
Unji'ratelul fool ! since but for brands 
Well wielded in some liardy hands, 
And wounds by (Galileans ^^iven. 
The surc-st pass to Turkish heaven. 
For hi in liis llouris still mi<;ht wait 
lnii)atient at the Prophet's natc. 
I loved her — love will find its way 
Throuj-h paths where wolves would feai' to prey; 
And if it dares enonuh, 'twere hard 
If passion met not some reward — 
No matter how, or wlicre, or why, 
1 did not vainly seek, nor sij;h : 
Yet soinctimi's, with rt'inorse, in vain 
I wish she had not loved a;^ain. 
She died — I dare not tell thee how; 
But look — 'tis written on my brow! 
There read of Cain the curse and crime, 
In characters unworn by time : 
.Still, ere thou dostcondeinn me, pause; 
Not mine the act, thouuh 1 the cause. 
Yet dill he but what 1 had dcnic 
Had she been false to more than one. 
Faithless to him, he gave the blow ; 



THE GIAOUR. 93 

But true to mo, T l;ii(l liiin low : 

llowc'cr (Ic'servod her doom iiiifjfht be, 

llcT Ircuclicry wiis tnitli (o luc; 

To uic slic i^iive licr licart, that all 

Wliicli tyranny fau ne'er enthrall; 

And I, alas ! too lale to save ! 

Yet all I then eould j^ivc, I gave — 

'Twas some relief — our foe a f^rave. 

His death sits li;ihtly ; liiit her fate 

Has made me — what Iliou well may'st hate. 

His doom was sealM — lie knew it well, 
Warn'd by tlie voiee of stern Taheer, 
Deep in whose darkly hodinji' ear* 
The deatli-sliot jx'alM of murder near, 

As filed the troiip to where tliey fell! 
lie died too in the battle broil, 
A time that heeds nor ])ain nor toil ; 
One ery to Molianimed for aid, 
One prayer ti> Allah all he made : 
He knew and erossM me in the fray — 
1 f^a/ed upon him where he lay. 
And wati'h'd his spirit elib away : 
Tiiou;;h piercrd liki' pai'd by hunters' steel. 
He felt not half that now I'feel. 

» This superstition of a socond-hcnrinK (for I ncvor met with downricht sccond- 
sifrlit ill the East) fell oiico under my own ohservution. On my tliird journey to 
Caiie Coloiiiia, ciirly in ISll. as we i)asscd tlirnii-ii llic defile tliat leads from'tlie 
liaiiihalx-twfcii Kci-alia and Coloinia, 1 nlisiTwd licrvish Tahiri ridiiif; ratlier 
<ml cl tlie patli, and leaniii;,' Ills head upon iiis liand. as if in pniil. I rode up 
and imiuired. " We are in pca-il," lie aiiswcri'd.— " Wliat peril V w<' are not now 
in Alhania, nor in the passes to Kpin'siis. .Mcssa]iiiiL;lii, or l,ci)anlo; ilnTe arc 

plenty of us, well armed, and tlie ('iioriad's lia\-e not eoiirat,'r i.i Ik> thieves." 

'•True, Aireiidi, but nevertheless the shot is rin^iiiif,' in my ears."— '■ 'I'hc shot! 
not a tophaike has been fired this morniiif,'."— " I hear it, notwithstandiiif;— Horn 
—ISoin— as plainly as I hear yonr voii'c"— " I'sha ! "— " As von please. All'endi; 
if it is written, so will it be."— I left tliis (|iiicti-carod predesthiarian, and rode up 
to liasili, his Christian compatriot, wliosc |.,ars. lliouKh not at all prophetic, hy no 
means relislied the iiitelll'^Tiire. \\v. all arrived .it ('(.loiiiia, remained some 
hours, and returned leisurely, sayiiii; a variety of hrilliant lliiiiKs, in more lan- 
(;iia;:es than spoiled tlie liiiililin;; (,f lialiel, iip.in the mistalieii seer. Itomaic, 
Arnaut, 'I'lirkisli, Italian, and ImikIisIi were all exenised, in various eoneeits, 
upiin the unfortunate Miissuliiian. While we were coiitem|ilatiii;,' the lieaiitifiii 
lauspeet, Dervisli was oeetiiiied aliout tlii' eoliiinns. I thoii'.'lit lie was deranged 
i.itoan antiiiuarian, and asUeil liim if Ik; liad liecome a '' I'a/ac-castro" man? 
'•Xo," said he, "but tliese pillars will he useful in making a stand;" and added 
other remarks, which at least evinced his own belief in his troublesome faculty 
of fore-hearinrj. On our return to Athens we hcanl from Leone (a prisoner set 
ashore .some days after) of the intended attack of thi> :\I,iiiiotes, meiitioiied, with 
(he cause of its not takiUK place, in tlu! notes to '• Childe Harold," Canto II. I 
was at some pains to question tlie man, and lie descriljed the dresses, arms, and 
marks of the horses of our parly so accuratelv, tliiit, with otluT cireiiinstaiiccs, 
we coulil not doubt of /lis being in " villaiioils conipany," and oin-selves in a 
bad neighborhood. Dervish became a soothsayer for life, and I d.ire sav ho is 
now hearing luore musketry than ever will he tired, to the great rcfreshihent of 
the Ariiants of Herat, and his native mountains.— I shall mentiim one trait more 
of this singular race. In March, 1811, a reniarkahlv stout and active Arnaut 
came (I belie\-c the fiftieth on the same errand) to olTer himself as nn attendant, 
wbieh was ih^elined. " Widl, Airemli," quoth he, " may voii live!— you would 
have loiiiid me useful. I shall leaver the town for the hills to-morrow; in the 
winter I return; jierhaps you will then receive me."— Dei-vish. who was pres- 
ent, remarked as a thing of course, and of no consei|uenc,e, " In tlii^ meantime 
he will join tlic^ Klephtes " (robbers), which was true to the h'tler. If not cut off, 
they come down in the winter, and pass it unmulested iu some town, where 
they are often as well known as their exploits. 



94 THE GIAOUR. 

I scarcliM, but vainly scarchM, to find 
The workings of a wounded mind; 
Each feature of tliat sullen corse 
Betray'd his rajre, hut no remorse. 
Oh, what had \\'uuoanee oivcu to trace 
Despair upon his dying face ! 
The late repentanee of that hour 
^^'l\en Penitence hath lost her power 
To tear one terror from the grave, 
And will not soothe, and cannot save. 

" The cold in clime arc cold in blood, 

Their love can scarce deserve the name, 
But mine was like the lava Hood 

That boils in .Etna's breast of tlamc. 
I cannot prate in puling strain 
Of lady-love, and beauty's chain : 
If changing cheek, and scorching vein, 
I.ijis taught to writhe, but not complain. 
If bursting heart, and madd'ning brain, 
And daring- deed, and vengeful steel, 
And all that I have felt, and feel, 
Betoken love— that love was niine, 
Aiul shown by nuiny a bitter sign. 
'Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh, 
I knew but to obtain or die. 
1 die — but lirst, I have jiosscssM, 
And come what may, I hare been bless'd. 
Shall 1 the docuu I sought upbraid ? 
No — reft of all, vet undismay'd 
But for the th(night of Leila" slain. 
Give me the pleasure with the pain, 
So would I live and love again. 
I grieve, but not, my holy guide !_ 
For him who dies, but her who died : 
She sleeps bcncatli the wandering wave — 
Ah ! had she l)ut an earthly grave. 
This breaking lieart aiul tiirobbing head 
Should seek and share her narrow bed. 
She was a form of life and light. 
That, seen, becaiue a part of sight; 
And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye. 
The Morning-star of Memory ! 

" Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven ; 

A spiu'k of that immortal fire 
With angels shared, liy Allah given, 

To lift from earth our low desire. 
Devotion wafts the mind above, 
But Heaven itself descends in love; 
A feeling from llic (iodhead caught. 
To wean from self each sordid tliought; 
A Bay of Ilim who form'd the whole; 
A Glory circling round the soul! 
I grant my love imperfect, all 
That mortals by the name miscall ; 



<^ 



riir: niAorn. 05 

Then ilccni it evil, wlmt tlxm wilt; 

Ijiit s:iy, oil s:iy, /irr.s wiis not fi'iiilt ! 

Slic \v;"is iiiv life's unerring' li;;1it : 

Tli;it (|iuMirli'(l, wlial bciiiii sli;ill hrciik my iii^iit ? 

Oil I would it shone to lead nic --till, 

Alllionji-h to (Iciilli or (Iciidlicst ill! 

AVliy marvel ye, if lliey who lose 

This present joy, this future hope, 

No more with sorrow meekly cope; 
In frenzy Mien their fate accuse : 
In madness do tliose fearful deeds 

That seem to add hut ^iiilt to woe ? 
Alas! tlii^ hreast that inly l)leeds 

llath nought to drea(t"from outward blow: 
Who falls from all he knows of bliss, 
Cares little iiilo what aJ)yss. 
Fierce as the jrloomy vulture's now 

To thee, old man," my <leeds appear; 
I \\r.u\ alihoireiice on liiy l)row. 

And this too was 1 horn to bear! 
'Tis true, that, like that bird of prey, 
With liavoc have; I mark'd my way : 
]?iit this was t^iuii-ht me by the dove, 
To die — and know no second love. 
This lesson yet halli man to learn, 
Taufrht by the Ihiiijr he dares to spurn! 
The bird 'that sin;is witliin the In-ake, 
1'lie swan that swims upon the lake. 
One mate, and one alone, will lake. 
And let the fool still jirone to raiific, 
And sneer on all who cannot eiianfjc, 
Partake liis je<t with boasting boys; 
1 envy not his varieil joys, 
Hut d'l'cm such fecbh^, heartless man, 
lycss than yon solitary swan; 
Far, far beneath the shallow maid 
lie left believing and betray'd. 
Such shame at least was never mine — 
I.eila! each tliought was only thine! 
My good, uiy guilt, my weal, my woe, 
]MV hope on "high — my all below. 
Earth holds no other like to thee, 
Or, if it doth, in vain for me : 
For worlds I dare not view the dame 
Kesembliug tliec, yet not the same. 
The very crimes that mar my youth. 
This bed of deatli— attest my iruth! 
'Tis all too late— thou wert, thou art 
The cherish'd madness of my heart I 

"And she was lost — anil yet I breathed, 

But not the breath of human life; 
A serpent round my lieart was wreatlicd, 

And stung my every thought to strife, 
Alike all time, iibhorr'd all jjlacc, 
Shuddering 1 shrunk from Nature's face, 



96 27//; GiAoriL 

WluTC cvui-y line that oharni'd before 

The lihii'kness ol' iny bosom wore. 

The rest tlioii dost ahvady know, 

Ami all my sins, ;uul lial!' my woe. 

liiil talk no more ol' iienilence; 

Thou see'st 1 soon shall part I'rom hence : 

And il" thy holy tale were true, 

The deed that's ilone, canst thou undo ? 

Think me not thankless — but this <;rief 

Look'^ not to ]iriestho()d for relief.* 

My soul's estate in secret yuess : 

Hut wouldst thou pity more, say less. 

AVlien thou canst bid my Leilii live, 

Then will I sue thee to "forji'ive ; 

Then plead my cause in that hijfh place 

Where purchased nuisscs ))rolVcr uraee. 

(Jo, v,hcn the hunier's hand halh wriniij 

From forest-cave Ium- shrieking young'. 

And calm the lonely lioness: 

But soothe not — mock not nuf disti'ess ! 

" In earlier days, and calmer hours, 

\\'hcn heart with heart delights to blend, 
Where l)loom my native valley's bowers, 

1 had — ah! have I now ? — a friend! 
To him this jiledge I charge thee send, 

Menu)rial of a youthful vow ; 
I would remind him of my end: 

Though souls absorb'd iike mine allow 
Brief thought to distant friendship's claim, 
Yet dear to him my blighted name. 
'Tis strange — he prophesied niy doom, 

vVnd 1 have smiled — 1 then could smile — 
^\'heu Prudence would his voice assume. 

And warn — 1 reck'd nut what — the while; 
But now remembrance whispers o'er 
Those accents scarcely mark'd before. 
Say — that his bodings came to pass. 

And he will start to hear their truth. 

And wish his woi'ds had not been sooth; 
Tell him, iinbecdiug as I wius, 

Through many a busy bitter scene 

Of all our golden youth had been, 
In pain, mv faltering totigue had tried 
To bless Ins meuuiry ere I died; 
But Heaven in wrath would turn away, 
If (iuilt shoidd for the guiltless pray. 
] do not ask him not to blame. 
Too gentle he to wound mv name; 
And what have I to ilo vi\\\\ faun- ? 
I do not ask him not to mourn. 
Such eokl request might soiuul like scorn; 

* The monk's sermon is omitted. It socms to have liiiil so little effect upon 
the patient tliat it could luivo no hopes iVoiu tlie reader. It may t)o sufficient to 
say, that it was ot'n oustoniury lenytli (as may be perceived from tlie inteiTup- 
tious and uneasiness of the iienilent), and was" delivered in tlie nasal tone of all 
ortliodox preachers. 



THE GIAOUR. 97 

And what tlian frit'iidship's manly tear 
May Ix'Ucr ;;rai-c a hrollicr's hwv ? 
lint hear tliis viiiL;, liis own nt' old, 
And tell liiiii — wliat tlioii dost behold! 
Tiie withcr'd IVaiiie, tlic ruiii'd mind, 
The wraek by ])assion lelH. behind, 
A slirivell'd seroll, a scattcr'd leaf, 
Sear'd by the autumn blast of grief! 

" Tell me no more of fancy's gleam, 

No, father, no, 'twas not a dream; 

Alas! the dreamer lirst must sleep, 

I only watch'd, and wish'd to weep; 

But could not, for my burning brow 

Thr()l)b'd to the very brain as now : 

I wish'd but for a single tear. 

As something welcome, new, and dear; 

I wish'd it then, I wish it still; 

Despair is stronger than my will. 

Waste not thine orison, despair 

Is mightier than thy ))ious prayer: 

I would not, if 1 migiit, be blest; 

I want no para(nse, l)ut rest. 

'Twas then, I tell thee, lather! then 

I saw h(!r; yes, she lived again; 

And shining in her white symar,* 

As through yim ])ale gray cloud the star 

Which now I gaze on, as on her. 

Who look'd, and looks far lovelier; 

Diiuly I view its trembling spark; 

To-morrow's night sh:dl be more dark; 

And I, before its rays appear. 

That lifeless thing the living fear. 

I wander, father! for my soul 

Is ileeting towards the final goal. 

I saw her, friar! and I rose 

Forgetful of our former woes; 

And rusliing from my couch, I dart, 

And clasp her to ni)' desperate heart; 

I clasp — wli;it is it thai; I clasp ? 

No Itreathing form within my grasp, 

No heart that beats reply to mine. 

Yet, Leila! yet the form is thine! 

And art thou, dearest, ('hanged so much. 

As meet my eye, yet mock my touch ? 

Ah ! were thy beauties e'er so cold, 

I care not ; so my arms unfold 

The all they ever wish'd to hold. 

Alas! around a shadow prest, 

They shrink upon my lonely breast; 

Yet still 'tis there ! In silence stands, 

And beckons with beseeching hands ! 

With braided hair, and briglit-black eye — 

I knew 'twas false — she could not ilic ! 

* " S^niar," sliroud. 



98 THE GIAOUR. 

But he is dead ! within the dell 
I saw liim buried -where he fell ; 
He comes not, for he cannot break 
From earth ; wliy tlien art thou awake ? 
They told me wild waves roll'd above 
The face I view, the form I love : 
They told me — 'twas a hideous tale ! 
I'd tell it, but my tongue would fail : 
If true, and from thine ocean-cave 
Thou com'st to claim a calmer grave ; 
Oh ! pass thy dewy fingers o'er 
This brow that then will burn no more; 
Or place them on my hopeless heart : 
But, shape or shade ! whate'er thou art, 
In mercy ne'er again depart ! 
Or farther with thee bear my soul _ 
Than winds can waft and waters roll ! 

" Such is my name, and such my tale. 

Confessor ! to thy secret ear 
I breathe the soitows I bewail, 

And thank thee for the generous tear 
This glazing eye could never shed. 
Then lay me with the humblest dead, -^ 

And, save the cross above my head, 
Be neither name nor emblem spread, 
By prying stranger to be read, 
Or stay the passing pilgrim's ti-ead." 

He pass'd — nor of his name and race 
Hath left a token or a trace, 
Save what the father must not say 
Who shrived him on his dying day : 
This broiccn tale was all we knew 
Of her he loved, or him he slew.* 

* The circumstance to which the above story relates was not very uncommon 
in Turlicy. A few years ago. the wife of Miiclitar Tacha coniplaineii to his 
father of his son's siipposed infidelity; ho asked with whom, and she had Ihe 
barharity to give in a list of the twelve handsomest women in Yanina. They 
were seized.fastened np in sacks, and drowned in the lake tlie same m'glitl 
One of the guards who was present informed me thnt not one of the victims 
tUtered a cr>', or showed a sj-mptom of terror, at so sudden a "wrench from all 
we know, from all wo love " The fate of Plirosine, the fairest of this sacrifice, 
is tlie subject of many a Komaic and Aniaut ditty. The story in the text is one 
told of a young Vrnetian many years ago, and now nearly forgotten. I lieanl it 
by accident recited liy one of the cotTee-house storj'-teliers wlio abound in iho 
Levant, and sing or recite their narratives. The additions and interpolations 
bv the translator will be easily distinguished from the rest, by the want of East- 
ern imagery; and I regret that my memory has retained so few fragments of the 
original. Kor the contents of some of the notes, I am indebted partly to B'Her- 
beiot, and partly to that most Eastern, and, as Mr. Weber justly entitles iv, 
•'sublime tale," the "Caliph Vathek." I do not know from what source the 
author of that singular volume may have drawn his materials ; some of his inci- 
dents are to be found in the " Bibliothei]no Orientale;" but for correctness of 
costume, beauty of descriptinn, and power of imagination, it far surpasses all 
European imit.atious: and hears sncli marks of originality, tliat Ihoso who have 
visited the East will find some ditficulty in believing it to be more than a trans- 
lation. -Vs an Eastern tale, even Kasselas mtist bow before it; his " Happy Val- 
ley" will not bear a comparison witli the " Hall of Eblis. ' 



THE BRIDE OF AEYDOS: 

A TURKISH TALE. 



" Had we never loved so kindly. 
Had we never loved so blindly, 
Never met or never parted, 
We had ne'er been brolven-hearted."— Bukns 



THE RIGHT HONORABLE LORD HOLLAND 

THIS TALE IS INSCRIBED, 

WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD AND RESPECT, 

BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED AND 

SINCERE FRIEND, 

BYRON. 



8t^ 



THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 



CANTO THE FIRST. 
I. 

Know j^c the land where the cyiiress ami myrtle 
Are cmiili'iiis of doeils that are done in their elinic, 

Where the rayc of the vulture, tlnTlovc of the turtle, 
Now melt into sorrow, now matUlen to crime ? 

Know yc the lantl of the cedar and vine, 

Where the llowers ever hlossoni, the heams ever shine; 

Where the li^ji'ht win;^',s of Zejihyr, op|)ress'd with perfume, 

Wax faint o'er the gardens of (rid in her hloom; * 

Wliere the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, 

And the voice of tlie nijiiitinjialo never is mute; 

AVhere the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, 

In color thoujjfh varied, in heauly may vie, 

And the jnirple of Ocean is deepest in dye; 

Where the virj^ins are soft as the roses they twine, 

And all, save the spirit of man, is divine ? 

'Tis the elinie of the East; 'tis the land of the Sun — 

Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done ?t 

Oh ! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell 

Are the hearts which thc^- hear, and the tales which they tell. 



Bejrirt with many a jjallant slave, 
Apparell'd as hecomes the brave. 
Awaiting- each his lortl's behest 
To ffuide his steps, or jjfuard his rest. 
Old tiiaftir sale in his Divan : 

Dec]) tliou^'iit was in his aj^'ed eye; 
And thoui;'li the face of Mussulman 

Not oft hctravs to slanders l)y 
The mind witiiin, well skiil'd to hide 
All but uncon(|ucral)le pride, 
His pensive check and ponderinfi brow 
Did more than he was wont avow. 

* " Gtil," the rose. 

t " Souls made of flro, niul chiMron of the Sun, 
With whom rovi'iige is vii-tiu'." 

Young's " Rkvengb." 

100 



CANTO I.] rUE imtDE OF ABVDOS. 101 

m. 
" Let the cli.'imbcr he rlenr'd."— The train disappear'd— 

*' Now rail nic the chief of the llarcin gitaril." 
With (Jiaffir is none hut his only son, 
'And the Nubian await iiijr the sire's award. 
" Iliiroun — when all the crowd that wait 
Are pass'd beyond the outer jiate, 
(Woe to the head whose eye Ix'held 
My child /uleika's l\wc. unveil'd!) 
Hence, lead my daufihter IVoni her tower; 
llcr fate is fix'd this very hour: 
Yet not to her repeat my thought; 
13y me alone bo duty taught I " 

•'Pacha! to hear is to obey." 
No more must slave to despot say — 
Then to the tower had ta'en his way, 
But here youn^'' Selim silence brake, 

First lowl}' rendering- reverence meet! 
And downcast look'd, and gently spake, 

Still standing at the Pacini's leet: 
For son of Moslem must expire. 
Ere dare to sit before his sire ! 

"Father! for fear that thou shouldst chide 
My sister, or her sable guide, 
Know — for the faull, if l;iult there be. 
Was mine — then fall thy frowns on me — 
So lovelily the morning shone. 

That— let the old and weary sleep — 
I could not; and to view alone 

The fairest scenes of land and deep, 
With none to listen and reply 
■JTo thoughts with which my lieart beat high, 
Were irksome — for whali^'er my mood, 
In sooth I love not solitude ; 
I on Zuleika's sluml)er broke. 

And, as thou knowest that for me 

Soon turns the Harem's grating key, 
Before the guardian slaves awoke 
We to the cypress groves had llown, 
And made earth, main, and heaven our own! 
There linger'd we, i)cguiled too long 
With Mejnoiin's tale, or Siidi's song,* 
Till I, who heard the deep tambourf 
Beat thy Divan's api)roaehing hour. 
To thee", and to my thity true, 
Warn'd by the sound, to greet thee flew: 
But there Zuleika wanders yet — 
Nay, father, rage not — nor forget 
That none can pierce that secret bower 
But those who watch the women's tower." 

• Molnoun and Leila, tlie Uoiiu'o and .liilict of ttic ICiist. SadI, tlic mural pnct 
Df I'crsiji. 

t " Tambour," Turliish drum, wliicU sounds at sunrise, noon, and Uviliylit. 



102 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [canto i. 

IV. 

" Son of a slave "—the Pacha said — 

"From uiibelievin;:: mother bred, 

Vain wore a fatlier's hope to sec 

Au;;ht that beseems a man in tliec. 

Thou, wlien thine arm shoiihl bend the bow. 

And hurl tlie (hirt, and eiirb the steed, 

Thou, (ireek in soid if not in creed, 
Must pore where babbling waters flow, 
And watch iinfoldinff roses blow. 
Would that yon orb, whose matin glow 
Thy listh'ss eyes so nnich admire, 
Would lend tliee soniethinij of his fire! 
Thou, who wouldst see this battlement 
IJy Christian cannon i)iecemeal rent; 
Nay, tamely view old Stamboul's wall 
Before the dous of Moscow fall. 
Nor strike one stroke for life and death 
Against I he curs of Nazareth ! 
(Jo — let thy less than womaiiVliand 
Assume tlie distatf — not the brand. 
But, liai'oun ! — to my daughter speed : 
And harlc — of tliinc own head take heed — 
If thus Zuleika oft takes wing — 
Thou sec'st j'on bow — it hath a string ! " 

V. 

No sound from Selim's lip was heard, 

At least that met old (Jiatfir's ear. 
But every frown ami every word 
Pierced keener than a Christian's sword. 

" Son of a slave ! — roproach'd with fear! 

Those gibes had cost another dear. 
Son of a slave ! — and ir/i<> my sire ?" 

Thus held his thoughts (heir dark careers 
And ghuu'cs e'en of more than ire 

Flash forth, tlien faintly disappear. 
Old (Jiatlir ga/cd upon his son 

And started; fo)' within his eye 
He read how much his wrath had done; 
He saw rebellion there begun : 

"Come hither, boy — what, no reply ? 
I mark thee — and 1 know thee too; 
But there be deeds thou dar'st not do: 
But if thy beard had manlier length. 
And if thy hand liad skill and strength, 
I'd joy to see thee break a lance, 
Albeit against my own perchance." 

As sneeringly these accents fell, 
On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed : 

That eye return'd liim glance for glance. 
And promlly to his sire's was raised, 

Till (iiatfir's (iiuiil'd and shrunk askance — 
And why — he felt, but ilurst not tell. 



CANTO i.j rilE lilUnE OF ADYDOS. 103 

"Much I iiiisdoiiht lliis wsiywanl boy 
AVill wiic (lny Wdik iiiu iiion; aiiiiuy : 
1 iKvtr lovJil liiiii IVoiii liiH hirtli, 
Aiul — hut lii.t ai-iu is liltlo worth, 
• Ami SL-:ircrly in tiic cliiiso could cope 
W'itii liuiid V;i\vn or iiiitclopc, 
]'"ar less would vcntui'c into strife 
■NViicru man coutcMils Tor fume and life — 
I would not trust thai look or lone : 
Ko — not- tlie l)lood so near my own. 
That hlood— he hatii not heard— uo more — 
I'll walch him closer than liefore. 
lie is :in ,\ral) to my si;j;lit,* 
Or Chrislian croucliini^ in the fij,'ht — 
But liark ! — 1 hear /uleika's voice; 

Like llouris' hymn it meets mine car: 
She is the ollsprin<r of my choice ; 

Oh ! more tiian e'en her mother dear, 
With all to hope, and nouj^hl to fear — 
My Teri ! — ever weh^jme here ! 
Sweet, as tlie desert fountain's wave. 
To lips just cruil'd in time to save — 

Such "to my loM|,nnir Hi<;ht art thou; 
Nor can they wall to ISIccca's shrine 
More thanks for life, than I for thine, 

Who blest thy birth, and bless thee now." 

VI. 
Fair, as the first that fell of womankind. 

When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling. 
Whose ima;;e then was stamp'd upon her inind— 

15ut once be^^uih'd— and evermore bet,niilin;,s 
l)ii/./.\\if^, as that, oh! too transcendent vision 

To S(nrow's pliantom-iico]iled slumber fi-iveii. 
When lu^art meets heart a;;ain in dreams Elysiaii, 

And paints the lost on Earth revived in Heaven; 
Soft, as the memory of liuried love ; 
Pure, as the prayer wiiich Childhood wafts al)0ve; 
Was she— the dau^ihtcr of that rude old Chief, _ 
Who met the maid with tears— but not of grief. 

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay 
To fix one spark of IJcauty's heavenly ray i 
Who doth not feel, until his failin'' sij,dit 
Faints into dimness with its own delight. 
His chan^iin;;- cheek, liis sinkinjj heart confess 
'I'he mi;,flit — the majesty of Loveliness? 
Suc:h was Zuleika — such around her shone 
The nameless charms unniark'd by her alone; 
Tlie ii^dit of love, the jnirity of ;,n-ace. 
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,t 

* The Tm-ks nlilior the Anilis (wtio rcnn-ii the compliment a liiiiulrcd-lolcj) 
even more Ihiiii tlicv liale the Chiisliaiis. 

t This expression lias iiicl witli oliicetioiis. I will not refer to •' iluii who hath 
not Music In his soul," but merely iciiuest the reader to recolli'Ct, for ten seeoiwls, 
llie features of tlie woman whom he believes to be tlie most beuutitiii; and it lie 



104 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [canto i. 

The heart whose softness havnionizcd the whole — 
Aud, oh ! that eye was iu itself a Soul ! 

Her graceful arms in meekness bending 

Across her j^ently-budding breast ; 
At one kind word those arms extending 

To clasp the neck of him who blest 

His child caressing and carest, 

Zuleika came — aud (iiattir felt 

His purpose half within him melt : 

Not that against her fancied weal 

His licart tliougli stern could ever feel ; 

Atlcclion cliaiu'd her to that heart; 

Ambition tore the links apart. 

VII. 

"Zuleika! child of gentleness! 

How dear this very day must teU, 
When I forget my own distress, 

In losing what I love so well, 

To bid thee with another ilwell : 

Another! and a braver man 

Was never seen in liattle's van. 
We Moslem reck not much of blood ; 

But yet the line of Carasman* 
Unchanged, unchangeable, hath stood 

First of tiie bold Timariot bauds 
That won aud well can keep their lauds. 
Enough that he who comes to woo 
Is kinsmau of the Bey Oglou : 
His years need scarce a thought employ : 
I would not have thee wed a boj'. 
And thou shalt have a noble dower : 
And his aud my united power 
Will laugh to scorn the death-firman. 
Which others tremble but to scan, 
And teach the messenger what fate 
The bearer of such boon may wait.f 

then docs not comprehend fully what is feebly expressed in the ahovc line. I sluiU 
be sorry for us both. I'or an" eloquent passage in the latest work of tl;e tirst 
female "writer of this, perhaps of any age, on the analogy (and the immediate 
comparison exeited by tliat analogy) between "painting aiid music," see vnl.'iii. 
cap. ](), "1)0 L'AllcuKii^ne." Andis not tliis connectiim still stronger witli the 
original tlian tlie copy? with tlic lolonng of .Vaiinv tliauof An? .Vftcr all, this 
is rather to be felt tluin (IcMi-ihcd; still, 1 iliiiik there are some who will under- 
stand it. at least llicy would Imvc done had tlie.\- hchcid the eouiitenanee whose 
speaking harmony sie-iycsicd llie idea ; tiii- iliis |ia^sa'4e is not drawn from imagi- 
nation but mi'mnry. that luiiror wliii-h .\tllielion da^lH•s to the earth, and lookins? 
down U|ioii the fragments, only beholds the retleeiion multiplied! 

* Carasman Oglou, or IvaraOsmaii Oglou, is the principal landholder in Turkey; 
he governs JIagnesia. Those who, bj- a kind of feudal temire, possess land on 
condition of service, are called Timariots; they serve as Spaliis, according to the 
extent of territory, and liriug a certain number into the field. ,L;euerally cavalry. 

t When a I'aeha is sulticiently strong to resist, tlie ,sin^dc> iiu'sseu'ger. who is 
always the first lieareroftlie order for his death, is ^tralll;led instrad. and some- 
times five or si.x, one after the other, on the same errand, liy ronunand of the 
refractory patient; if', on the contrary, he is weak or loyal, he bows. Kisses the 
Stiltan's respectable signature, and is bowstrung with Vivat coiiiphnnicy. In 
18111, several of " these preseiUs" were exhibited iu the niche of the .Seraglio 
gate; among others, the head of the Pacha of Bagdad, a brave young man, cut 
oft' by treachery, after a desperate resistance. 



CANTO I.] THE BRIDE OF ABTDOS. IQo 

And now tlimi know'st thy father's will; 

All that thy sex hatli need to know : 
'Twas mine to tench ohcdicnec still — 

The way to love, thy lui'd may show." 

VIII. 

In silence how'd the vii-nrin's head ; 

And if her eye was fiU'd with tears 
That stilled feeling' dare not shed, 
And changed her check from ])ale to red, 

And red to pale, as through her ears 
Those winged words like arrows s]ied, 

What could such he but maiden fears ? 
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye. 
Love half regrets to kiss it dry ; 
So sweet the blush of Bashfulness, 
Even Pity scarce can wish it less ! 

Whate'er it was the sire forgot ; 

Or if rcnicmlier'd, mark'd it not ; 

Thrice clapp'd his hands, and call'd his steed,* 

Eesign'il his gem-adorn'd cliibonquc,t 
And mounting featly for the mead. 

With Maugrabcc;i: and Mamaluke, 

His way amid his Delis took, 5 
To witne-is many an active deed 
With sabre keen, or blunt jeireed. 
The Kislar only and his Moors 
Watch well the Harem's massy doors. 



His head was leant upon his hand, 
His eye look'd o'er the dark blue watei" 

That swiftly glides and gently swells 

Between the winding Dardanelles; 

But yet he saw nor sea nor strand. 

Nor even his Pacha's turban'd band 
Mix in the game of mimic slaughter, 

Careering cleave the folded felt || 

With sabre-stroke right sharply dealt ; 

Nor mark'd the javelin-darting crowd, 

Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud — 51 
He thought but of old Giaffir's daughter ! 

* Clappinpr of the hands calls flie servants. The Turks hate a superfluous ex- 
psnditure of vnicc, and tlicy have no l)clls. 

t "ChiboiKiuc,"' the 'riirUish pipe, of which tlie amber moiitlipicce, and some- 
times the ball which contains the leaf, is adorned with i)recious stones, if in 
possession of tlie wcaltliier orders. 

1; "Maugrabee. " Moorish mercenaries. 

§ "Delis," bravoes who form the forlorn-hope of the cavalry, and always begin 
the action. 

!: A twisted fold of felt is used for scimitar practice by the Turks, iuid few but 
Mussulman arms can cut through it at a single stroke: sometimes a toiigli turban 
Is used for the same purjiose. The jerreed is u game of bhnit javelins, animated 
and graceful. 

If "Ollahs," Alia il Allah, the " Leilies," as the Spanish poets call them; tlie 
sound is Ollah ; a cry of wliieh the Turks, for a silent people, are somewhat pro- 



106 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [cvjjto i. 

X. 

No wonl from Scliiu's bosom broke; 
One si'i'h Zulcika's thoujiht bespoke : 
Still jjrazcd he throiifiii the lattice grate, 
Pale, mute, and moiirnCiilly sedate. 
To him /uleika's eye was turu'd, 
But Utile iVoni his aspect learn'd; 
Equal her grief, yet nut the same : 
Her heart eonfess'd a gentler llame : 
But yet that heart, alarm'd, or weak, 
She 1<new not why, forliade to speak. 
Yet speak she nmst— but when essay ? 
'How strange he thus should turn away ! 
^ot thus we e'er l)elbre have met; 
Not thus shall be our jiartiug yet." 
Thriee paced she slowly through the room, 

7\nd watcli'd his eye — it still was lix'd: 

She snateh'd the urn wherein was mix'd 
The Persian Atar-gul's perfume,* 
And sprinkled all its ()dnrs-«»Vr 
The ])ictured roof and marl)le Hoor:t 
The drops, tlint (hroiigli his glittering vest 
The playful girl's appeal aildress'd. 
Unheeded o'er his bosom flew. 
As if that breast were marble too. 
"What, sullen yet? it must not'be— 
Oh! gentle 8elim, tliis from thee! " 
She saw in curious order set 

The fairest flowers of Eastern land — 
"lie loved them once; nuiy touch them yet 

If ofler'd by Zuleika's hand." 
The childish thought was liardly breathed 
Befo»-c the Pose was jiluck'd aiul wreathed; 
The next fond moment saw her seat 
Ilcr fairv form at Selim's feet; 
"This rose to calm m\' brother's cares 
A message from the IJidbul bears; % 
It says to-night he will prolong 
For Sclim's car his sweetest song; 
And tliough his note is somewhat sad, 
He'll try for once a strain more glad, 
With some faint hope his alter'd lay 
May sing these gloomy thoughts away. 

ftisp. particulnriy (luring tlio jcrrocil, or in the chase, but mostly in battle. Their 
aniiiiatiiin in tlio tiokl, and gravity in tlic chamber, witli tlieir pipes and com- 
boloiiis, t'oi'in an luiiusiiij; contrast. 

* " Atar-ffiil," ottav of roses. Tlic Persian is the finest. 

t The coiliu}; and wainscots, or rather walls, of tlie Mnssalmnn apartments 
are sjencrally painted, in great lionses, \vitli one eternal and hiRlily-colored view 
of ("onstanthioplc, wlierein the principal feature is a noble contempt of perspec- 
tive; below, arms, scimitars, itc, are in general fancifully and not inelegantly 
disposed. 

X It has been nineli doid>(ed wlictlier tlie notes of tiiis " Lover of the rose" are 
sad or merry; and Mr. I'uxs rcniKir[;s cm tlir Milijcrt liave provolvcd some learned 
controversy as to the npininns of the anricnls on llu' siibjoct. 1 dare not venture 
a conjecture on tlie point, tluiuglj u little inclined to the "errare wallem," Ac, 
^' Mr. t'ox was mistaken. 



CANTO I.] THE BRIDE OF ABTDOS. \{)-J 

XI. 

"Wliat! not rcocivo my foolisli flower? 

Nay then I am indeed nnl)le,st : 
On nic can lliiis tliy forehead lower ? 

And know'st thou not who loves tliee best ? 
Oh, Selim dear! oli, more tlian dearest! 
Say, is it me lliou hat'st or I'earest ? 
Come, lay tiiy head upon my breast. 
And I will kiss thee in(o rest. 
Since words of mine, and sonjrs must fail 
E'en from my fal)led nifi;htin<;ale. 
I knew our sire at times was stern, 
l?nt this from thee had yet to learn : 
Too well I know he loves thee not; 
But is Zuleika's love forji'ot ? 
Ah ! deem I ri;iht ? the Paeha's plan — 
This kinsman Bey of (larasman 
Perhaps may prove some foe of thine : 
If so, I swear by Mceca's shrine. 
If shrines that ne'er approaeh allow 
To woman's step admit her vow, 
Without thy free eoiiseiit, command, 
The Sultan should not have my hand I 
Think'st thou that I could bear to part 
With thee, and learn to halve my heart ? 
Ah! were I sevei-'d from thy side, 
Where were thy friend — and who my guide ? 
Years have not seen. Time shall not see 
The hour that tears my soul from thee : 
Even Azracl,* from his deadly quiver 

When Hies that shaft, and i'ly it nnist. 
That parts all else, shall doom for ever 

Our hearts to undivided dust ! " 

XII. 

lie lived — he breathed — ^he moved — he felt ; 
lie raised tlie maid from where she knelt; 
His trance was pone — his keen eye shone 
With thoughts that long in darkness dwelt; 
With thoughts that burn — in rays that mclL 
As the stream late eoneeal'd 

By the fringe of its willows. 
When it rushes reveal'd 

In the light of its i)illows ; 
As the bolt bursts on high 

From the black cloud that bound it, 
Flash'd the soul of that eye 

Through the long lashes round it. 
A war-horse at the trumpet's sound, 
A lion roused by heedless hound, 
A tyrant wakeit to sudden strife 
By graze of ill-directed knife, 
Starts not to more convulsive life 

• " Azrnel," the angel of tleath. 



108 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [cajs'to i 

Than he, who heard that vow, display'd, 
And all, before repress'd, betray'd : 

"Now thou ai"t mine, for ever mine, 

With life to keep, and scarce with life resign : 

Now thou art mine, that sacred oatli, 

Thoufjh sworn by one, hath bound us both. 

Yes, fondly, wisely hast tliou done; 

That vow hath saved more heads than one : 

But blench not thou — thy simplest tress 

Claims more from me than tenderness ; 

I would not wrong the slenderest hair 

That clusters round thy forehead fair, 

For all the treasures buried far 

Within the caves of Istakar.* 

This morning clouds upon me lower'd, 

Eeproaches on my head were shower'd. 

And Giaffir almost call'd me coward ! 

Now I have motive to be brave ; 

The son of his neglected slave — 

Nay, start not, 'twas the terrtrlie gave — 

May show, though little apt to vaunt, 

A heart his worils nor deeds can daunt. 

His son, indeed ! — yet, thanks to thee, 

Perchance I am, at least shall l)e ! 

But let our plighted secret vow 

Be only known to us as now. 

I know the wretch who dares demand 

From Giaffir thy reluctant hand ; 

More ill-got wealth, a meaner soul 

Holds not a IMusselim's control : f 

Was he not bred in Egripo ? | 

A viler race let Israel show ! 

But let that pass — to none be told 

Our oath ; the rest let time unfold. 

To mc and mine leave Osman Bey ; 

I've partisans for peril's day : 

Think not I am what I appear ; 

I've arms, and friends, and vengeance near." 

XIII. 

" Think not thou art what thou appearest ! 

My Selim, thou art sadly changed : 
This morn I saw thee gentlest, dearest ; 

But now thou'rt from thyself estranged. 
My love thou surely kncw'st before. 
It ne'er was less, nor can be more. 
To see thee, hear thee, near thee stay, 

And hate the night, I know not why, 
Save that we meet not but by daj' ; 

* T' e treasures of the pre-Aciamite Sultans. See D'Herbelot, article Istakar. 

f ' .tlusselini," a governor, the next in rank after a I'aclia; a Wajwocle is tlie 
ttiiril; and tlien come tlie Agas. 

} " Kgripo " — the Ncgropont. According to the proverb, the Turlts of Egripo, 
the Jnws of Salonica, and tlie Greeks of Athens, are the worst of their respective 
races. 



CANTO I.] THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 109 

With thee to live, with thee to die, 

I dare not to ray liope deny : 
Thy clicck, thine eyes, thy lips to kiss, 
IJkc this — and this — no more than this ; 
For, Allah ! sure thy lips are llame : 

What fever in thy veins is llnshing! 
My own have nearly canjiiit the same. 

At least I feel ray cheek too blushing'. 
To sootlie thy sickness, watch thy health, 
Partake, but never waste thy wealth, 
Or stand with smiles unmurmuring' by, 
And li^^'hten half thy poverty ; 
Do all hut close th}- dyinir eve. 
For that I could not live to try; « 
To these alone my thouylits aspire : 
More can I do ? or thou require ? 
But, Selim, thou must answer why 
We need so much of mystery ? 
The cause I cannot dream nor tell, 
But be it, since thou say'st 'tis well; 
Yet what thou mcan'st by ' arms ' and ' friends,' 
Beyond my weaker sense extends. 
I meant that Giaffir should have heard 

The very vo^v I plighted thee ; 
His wrath would not revoke my word : 

But surely he would leave me free. 

Can this fond wish seem strange in me, 
To be what I have ever been ? 
What other hath Zuleika seen 
From sinijile childhood's earliest hour ? 

What other can she seek to see 
Than thee, comjianion of her bower, 

The partner of her infancy ? 
These cherish'd thoughts with life begun, 

Say, why must I no more avow ? 
What change is wrought to make me shun 

The truth ; my pride, and thine till now ? 
To meet the gaze of stranger's eyes 
Our law, oiu' creed, our God denies : 
Kor shall one wandering thouglit of mine 
At such, our Prophet's will, repine : 
No ! happier made by that decree ! 
He left me all in leaving thee. 
Deep were my anguish, thus compell'd 
To wed witli one I ne'er beheld : 
This wherefore should I not reveal ? 
Why wilt thou urge me to conceal ? 
I know the Pacha's haughty mood 
To thee hath never boded good : 
And he so often storms at nought, 
Allah ! forl)id that e'er he ought ! 
And why I know not, but within 
^ly heart concealment weighs like sin. 
If, then, such secrecy he crime. 

And such it feels while lurking here, 



iJiO THE BRIDE OF AB YD OS. [canto n. 

Oh, Sclim ! toll me yet in time, 

Nor leave me thus to thoii^ihts of fear. 
Ah ! yomlcr see the Tcliocatlar,* 
]My fathci" leaves the mimic war: 
I trenilile now to meet liis eye — 
Say, Sclim, canst thou tell me why ? " 

XIV. 

*' Zulcika — to thv tower's retreat 

Betake thee— (uaflir I can f^rcet : 

And now with him I lain nnist prate 

Of finnans, imposts, k'\ies, state. 

There 's reavt'ul news from Danuhc's hanks, 

Our Vizier nohly thins his ranks. 

For whicii the (Jiaour may i;ive liiin thanks! 

Our Sultan hath a shorter way 

Such costly triumph to repay. 

But. nnu'k me, when the twilii^'ht drum 

Hath warn'il the tnops to food and sleep, 
Unto thy c(dl will Sclim ciniie : 

Then softly from the llarcili creep 

"Where we may wander hy the deep : 

Our garden-hattlements are steep; 
Nor these will rash intruder elimh 
To list our words, or stint our time; 
And if iu^ doth, I want not steel 
AViiieh some have felt, and more may feel. 
Then shalt thou learn of Selim more 
Than thou ha-;t heard or thought heforc : 
Trust me, Zideika — fear not me ! 
Thou know'st 1 liold a Ilareni key." 

"Fear thee, my Selim ! ne'er till now 
Did word like "this — " 

" Delay not thou; 
I keep the key — and Ilaronn's i;uard 
Have some, aiid hope of more reward. 
To-ni;i"ht, Zuleika, thou shalt hear 
My tale, my purpose, and my fear: 
I am not, love ! what I appear." 



CANTO THE SECOND. 

I. 
The winds are luLih on Ilelle's wave, 

As on that niulit of stormy water, 
When Love, who sent, fo!';;ot to save 
The youn;:', the heautiful, the hrave, 

The lonely jiope of Sestos' daughter. 
Oh ! when alone aloni,'' the sky 
Her turret-torch was lilazinu' liii;h, 
TiioU!;h risiuu' ;;ale, and breaking' foam. 
And shrickinii' sea-liirds warn'd him home; 
And elouils aloft and tiih's below, 
With signs and sounds, forbade to go, 

' Tehocadar," one of the attoiulaiits wlio prccetlcs a man of auflK^rity. 



CAMTO U.] THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. m 

He could not soc, lie would not hear, 

Or sound or sijiii forchodin;^: fear; 

]Iis eye hut saw tin- li^^ht of love, 

The only star it iiailM above ; 

His Ciirliut raii;j: with llei-o's sonfj, 

" Yc waves, divide not lovers long ! " — 

That tale is old, but love anew 

May uei-ve young hearts to prove as true. 

II. 

The winds arc liigh, and Hello's tide 

Eolls darkly heaving to the main; 

And Night's dcsci^nding shadows hide 

Tliat IJcld with l)lood hcdew'd in vain. 
The desert of old Triani's pride; 
'J'he tombs, solo relies of his reign. 
All— save ininioi-t.-il dreams that could heguilo 
The blind old man of IScio's rocky isle ! 

III. 

Oh ! yet— for there my steps have been ! 

These feet have press'd tJic sacred shore. 

These limbs tliat buoyant wave hath l)orne 

Minstrel! with thee to muse, to mourn, 

To tnicc again those fields of yore. 
Believing every hillock green 

Cont^iins no fiil)led hero's ashes. 
And tliat around tlie undoubted scene 

Thine own " broad Hellespont " still dashes,* 
Be long my lot ! and cold were he 
Who there could guze denying thee! 

rv. 

The night hath closed on Ilellc's stream, 

Nor yet hatii risen on Ida's hill 
That moon, which shone on Iiis high theme: 
No warrior chides her peac:eful beam. 

But conscious shepherds lilcss it still. 
Their Hocks are grazing on the mound 

Of him who fell the Dardan's arrow; 
That mighty heap of gather'd ground 
Which Amnion's son rail proudly round,t 
By nations raised, by monarchs"crown'il, 

• 'Hip ^^Tanfrlirw nI)out this npiflict, "the l)rortd Ilollospont," or the "bound, 
less HelU'spoM wh(;th<T ,t >,.<.,n,s one <,r the other, or what i means at all hai 
\.een h.^yoiM al possiljility ofdelail. I have even ],eanl it dispnte, Ion the snol 
mill Mot foreseeing a speedy coiielusion to t\n: eontroversv aniiis,.(i iiumiV w ith 
swiminiiif! aen.ss it hi the nieaiitiiue, and iirohahly inavaKain, heiore the noiiit 
13 settled. Indeed, the question as to the truth of " the tale of Troy diviiio ' 
still continues, much of it restinw upon the talismaiiic word uT£<»oci nrohablv 
Homer hai the same notion of distaiiee that a coquette has of time, and when 
he taks 01 boundless means half a mile; as the latter, by a like agure. when 
she says ,-l,'rn,il. attaclimiMK, simply specifies three weeks. 

t r.Horc his Persian invasion, and erowned the altar with laurel. &c. He 

also n i'Jnw'J .^■l-'""^'"■'' ''^' *,'','/'"';"'^' i" H" """'• It '« believed that the last 
also poisoned a iriend, nauKHl lestus, lor the .sake of new I'atroclan games, r 

Ik Uie'^ii'tie of iho'Vlain!'"'' "" '"" """''' of ^slotes and AiitUochus: the flrst is 



J]2 THE BlilDK or ABYDOS. [canto II. 

I^ now a lone and iiriinoloss hin-row ! 

Within — thy dwi'Hinu-iihu'o how nan-ow ! 
Without — can only stratiiiors hivathc 
The naiuo ol" him that was bonoath: 



DiLst Ion;:- outlasts the storied stone; 
But Thou — thy vcvy dust is gouo ! 



Late, late to-niL;ht will Dian cheer 

The swain, and chase the boatman's fear; 

Till then — no beacon on the elitV 

!May ^:ha)le the course ol' strujijiling' skiff; 

The scatter'd li-^hts that skirt' the bay, 

All, one by one, have dieil away; 

The only lamj) of this lone hour 

Is glimmering in Zuleika's tower. 

Yes ! there is light in that lojic chamber, 

And o'er her silken ottoman 
Are thrown the iVagraiU benrTs of amber, 

O'er which her fairy lingers van;* 
Near those, with omenild rays beset, 
(How could she thus that gem forget ?) 
Her mother's sainted amulet, f 
AX'hereon engraved the Koi)rsee text, 
Coiihl smooth this life, and win the next ; 
And by her C'oitiboloio lies J 
A Koran of illumined dyes; 
And many a briubt embla/on'd rhyme 
By Persian scribes redeem'd t'rom time; 
And o'er those scrolls, not oft so mute, 
Eeelines her now neglected lute; 
And routul her lamp of fretted gold 
Bloom tlowcrs in urns o^ t^hina's mould; 
The richest work of Iran's loom, 
Aud Sheeiaz' tribute of perfume; 
All that can eye or sense delight 

Are gather'd in tluit gorg-eous room : 

But yet it liath an air of gloom. 
She, of this I'eri cell the sprite, 
What doth she hence, and on so rude a night ? 



Wrapt in the darkest sable vest, 

^^'hieh none save uohlcst Moslem wear, 

♦ When nililioil, tho aiiilior is susco])tiblc ol" a pcrt\niio, wliich is sll.slit bnf not 
dlsaRrooablo. 

t Tlio holiof in aiuiili'ts ciitrnivcMi on sroins, or piiolosoii in i;"''' tioxcs, ocmtain- 
ing scraps tVom tlio Kunni, ^^ovll rouiul tlu' nci-k, wrist, ov -.wm. is .viill iinivi'isal 
ill till' Kiist. Till' Ivoorsi'o (tliroiu') vorso in tlio soooiul oluiptor iH' the l<.iii:in 
liesi-ribes tlie attriliiUos of tlio Most Uidi. ami is oiiar.ivi'd in lliis luaiiiH r, and 
worn by tlie pious, as tlio most cMoi'iiu'ii ami suliliiiu' oi' all sciitiiK'Os. 

X •' C'oniboloio," a 'I'lirkisli rosary. 'I'lio MSS., iiartioiilaily ilioso of tlio IVr- 
siaiis, aro riclily aiionuil iiml ilhiniinatiHl. Tlio (iivolv foiualos aio liopt m atter 
ignoranoo; but many of llio Turkisli girls aro liiglily aocouiplistiod, though not 
actually qualUloil for a riirisiiaii ootoric. Terliaps some of our own "■blues" 
niiglit not be tlio worse for bleachiiit). 



CANTO II.] THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 113 

To priiiinl from wiijils oC licavoii tlie hrcasi 

As iu'avcii itsoir ti) Soliiii (lc;ir, 
With ("iiitioiis steps (he liiickot tlnvadinj^, 

And startiiii,'' oft, :is thi-oii'_''h the jrliule 

The j;iist its UdUow !ui);iiiiii;^s niado ; 
Till on the sniootlur |>:itliw:iy trcinliiig, 
Moro free her timid hosoni bent. 

The niiiid pursued her silent j^iiide; 
And tliou<rh her terror nrfied rctroiit, 

How could she (piit her Selini's side ? 

How teach her tender lips to chide ? 

VII. 

They reach'd at lonjrth a <n-otto, hewn 

By nature, but cnlarfjed by art, 
Where oft her lute she wont" to tune, 

And oft Iier Koran eoun'd ajxirt : 
And oft in youtliful reverie 
She dream'd what Paradise mi-jiit be; 
Where woman's parted soul shall go 
Her Prophet liad disdain'd to show; 
lint iSelim's mansion was seenre, 
Nor deem'd she, eouhl he long endure 
His bower in other worlds of l)liss, 
Without her, most beloved in this ! 
Oh! who so dear with him eould dwell? 
What Houri soothe him half so well ? 

\ail. 
Since last she visited the spot 
Some change seeni'd wrou^-ht within the grot; 
It miglit be only tiiat the night 
Disguised thing's seen by bcUer light; 
That brazen lamp but dimly threw 
A ray of no celestial hue : 
But in a nook within the cell 
Her eye on stranger objects fell. 
There arms were piled, not such as wield 
The tnrban'd Helis in the field ; 
]{ul brands of foreign blade and hilt, 
And <mv. was red— perchance Avith guilt'. 
All ! how without can blood be spilt .' 
A Clip too on tlie hoard was set 
That did not seem to hold sherl)et. 
Wiiat may tliis mean ? slic turn'd to see — 
Her .Sclim— " Oh ! can this be he ? " 

IX. 

His robe of pride was thi-own aside, 
His brow no high-crown'd turban bore, 

But in its stead a shawl of rctl, 

Wreathed lighlly round, his temples wore: 

That dagger, on ■whose hilt the gem 

Were worthy of a diadem, 

No longer glitterM at his waist, 

Where pistols unaUoni'd were braced; 
8 



114 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [canto il 

And from his belt a sabre swung, 

And from his shoulder loosely hung 

The cloak of white, the thin capote 

That decks the wandering Candiote : 

Beneath — his golden plated vest 

Clung like a cuirass to his breast ; 

The greaves below his knee that wound 

With silver)' scales were sheathed and bounds 

But were it not that higli command 

Spake in his eye, and tone, and band, 

All that a careless eye could see 

lu him was some j'oung Galiougee.* 

X. 

" I said I was not what I secm'd; 

And now thou sec'st my words were true : 
I have a tale thou hast not dream'd, 

If sooth — its truth must others rue. 
^ly stoiT now 'twere vain to hide, 
I must not see thee Osnian'n>ride : 
But had not tliinc own lips declared 
How much of that young heart I shared, 
I could not, must not, yet have shown 
The darker seci-et of my own. 
In this I speak not now of love ; 
That, let time, truth, anil peril prove : 
But first — oh ! never wed another — 
Zulcika! I am not thy brother!" 

XI. 

" Oh ! not my brother ! — yet unsay — 

God ! am I left alone on canh 
To mourn — I dare not curse — the day 

That saw my solitary birth ? 
Oh ! thou wilt love me now no more! 

]Mv sinking heart foreboded ill; 
But know me all I was before, 

Thy sister — friend — Zuleika still. 
Thou ledd'st me here perchance to kill; 

If thou hast cause for vengeance, see 
My breast is otfer'd — take thy fill ! 

i'ar better with the dead to be 

Than live thus nothing now to thee ; 
Perhaps far worse, for now I know 
Why Giafiir always seem'd thy foe ; 
And I. alas ! am (aiivffir's child. 
For whom thou wert contcmn'd, reveled. 
If not thy sister — wouldst thou save 
My life, oh ! bid me be thy slave ', " 

* " GalioT>(jee," or flaliongi, a sailor, that is, a Turkish sailor; the Greeks 
navigate, the Turks work the siiiis. Their dress is pictnres(nie; and I have 
seen the Oapitan Pacha more than once wearin;.'- it as a kind of incog. Their 
less, however, are frenerally naked. The oiiskins described in the text as 
slieatlied behind with silver "arc tliose of an Arnant robber, who was my host 
(he had quitted t'e crofession) at bis Vyrtio. near Gastoinii in the Morea; they 
were plated in scales" one ov«r '\v otie', like the back of an armadillo. 



CANTO II.] THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. Hfi 



" My slave, Ziilcika ! — nay, I'm thine : 

But, gentle love, this transport cahn. 
Thy lot sliall yet l)e link'il with mine ; 
I swear it hy our Prophet's slirine, 

And be that thought thy sorrow's balm. 
So may the Koran verse ihsplay'd* 
Upon its steel direct my l)hidc, 
In danger's liour to guard us both, 
As I ))reserve that awlul oath ! 
The name in which tiiy lieart liath prided 

ISIust change ; hut, I'ny Zulcika, know, 
That tic is widcn'd, not (Hvidcd, 

Although tliy (Sire 's my deadliest foe. 
My father was to Cjiatfir all 

That tSclim late was dccm'd to thee ; 
That brother wrought a l)rother's fall, 

But siiared, at least, my infancy; 
And lull'd UK' wilh ;i vain deceit 
That yet a like return nuiy meet. 
He rear'd me, not with tender help, 

But like the nephew of a Cain ; f 
He watch'd me like a lion's whelp. 

That gnaws and yet may lireak his chain. 

My father's blood in every vein 
Is boiling; but for thy dear sake 
No present vengeance will I take ; 

Though here I must no more nimain. 
But first, beloved Zulcika! hear 
How Giaflir wrought this deed of fear. 

xni. 
" How first their strife to rancor grew, 

If love or cnvv made them foes, 
It matters little if 1 knew; 
In fiery spirits, slights, though few 

And thoughtless', will disturb repose, 
lu war Abdallali's arm was strong, 
Ileiuember'il yet in Bosuiac song, 

* T!io cliaracters on all Turkish KCimitars contain sometimes the name of the 
place of tlieir iii;nuU'iirtiii-f, IjiU more t;eiierall.\ a Irxt fnim tlie Koran, in letters 
of gold. Aiuoiij^.st tliosf ill my ))o.sM'.ssion is one uitli a lilaile of .sin,!,'iilar eon- 
8triietion ; it is very broad, and the edge nolelie<l into siTpentin'- I'lU'ves lilie the 
iipi)leof water, or the wavering of tlame. I a.slied (lie Arineniati wliosold it what 
possililc use such a tiiiure could add: he said, in Iiaiian, tliat he didnot know; but 
tlie Mussulmans had an idea tliat those of this form gave a si'verer wound; and 
lilied it because it was " piu feroce." I did not uaich admire tlic reason, but 
bought it for its peculiarity. 

t It is to be observed, that every allusion to any thing or personage in the Old 
TestamoiU. such as the Arit, or Cain, is criually tlio privilege of Mussulman and 
Jew: iiirlci'd, tlicfornu'i- profess to be much bi'tli'r ac(]uainted witli the lives, true 
and faliiiloMs, of tli(^ patriarchs, th.an is warranted by r)ur own sacred writ; and 
not content \vilh Adam, thev have a biograpliy of pre-Adamites. .Siilomon is the 
monarch of all necromancy", and Moses a i>roiiliet inferior only to Christ and ]\Io- 
liamme<I. Zuleika is the Persian name of l'oti|iliar's wife; and her amour with 
Joseph constitutes one of the finest poems in tlieir language. It is, therefore, no 
violaticMi of costume to put the names of Cain, or Noah, into the mouth of a 
Moslc'in. 



116 THE BRIDE OF Alil'DOS. [canto \u 

And Paswau's rohcl hordes attest* 

How little love tlicv bore sueli ji'ucst : 

His death is all I need reliite. 

The stern etVeel of (iiathr's hate; 

Aiul how niv biith disclosed to me, 

Wbatc'er heside it makes, liath made rac iVcc. 

XIV. 

"When Paswan, after vears of strife, 
At last for i>o\ver, hut first for life, 
In W'iddiu's walls too )iroiully sate, 
Our Paehiis rallied round the state; 
Nor last nor least in hiiih eonnuand, 
Eaeh brother led a seinirale band; 
They jiave their horse-tails to the wind,t 

And nuislerinji' in So)iliia's plain 
Their tents were iiitchM, their ]iosts assign'cl; 

To one, alas ! assi^n'd in vain ! 
What nceil of words ? the dcatUy bowl, 

Bv GiatWr's order driiuji'djyid ^iveu, 
Willi venom subtle as his soul, 

l)ismiss'd Alidallah'-; hence to heaven. 
Kcelined and feverish in the l>ath. 

He, when the hunter's sport was up, 
But little deeni'd a brotlu>r's wrath 

To queiieh his thirst had such a cup : 
The bowl a bribecl attend;int bore; 
He ilrank one draught, nor needed more ! 4 
If thou my tale, ZideiUa, doubt, 
Call Ilaroun — ho ean tell it out. 

XV. 

"The deed ouee done, and Paswan's fond 
In part suiipressM, thouj;'h ne'er subdued, 

Abilallah's Pachalic was yain'd : — 
Thou kuow'st not what in our Divan 
Can wealth procui-e for worse than man — 

Abdallali's lumors were obtain'd 
By him a brother's nnirder stain'd; 
"lis true, the purehase nearly drain'd 
His ill-,<iot treasure, soon replaced. 
AWnildst i|uestion whence ? Survey the waste. 
And asl< tlic si[u;ilid peasant how 
His gains repay his broilini;' brow! — 
Why me the stern usurper spared, 
Why thus with me his palace shared, 
I know not. 8hame, regret, remorse, 
And little fear from infant's force ; 

* Pnswnn O.vrlou, flic rolicl of Wiildln; who, for fho last years of liis life, se» 
the wliolo powor of tho roiMo iit ilitlaiioi.'. 

+ " Uorsi'-tail," tho staiulant of u I'acha. 

J diattii', I'aclia of Ariiv ro Castro, or Scutari, 1 am not suro wliich, was actu- 
ally taken off liy ll\o Aliiaiiian Ali, in the inauiu r iloscriliod ii\ the text. All 
I'a'eha, wliile I was in liio eoiniliy, inaiTied llie ilan,s;htor of his victim, some 
years alter llie event had taken (ilaee at a liath in Sophia, or Ailrianople. Tlio 
poison was mixed in the cap of cotVee wliieh is preseuted hefore tlie sliorbet by 
the bath-keeper, alter dressing. 



CANTO 11.] TUi: IlIiinE OF ABYDOS. HJ 

Ecsidcs, adoption as a son 
l{y him whom llcavon accorded none, 
Or some mikiiowii ciil>:d, cMpricc, 
Preserved iik; tlius; hut mil, in peace: 
lie eaiuiol curb his liiiu^^lily mood, 
Nor I lor^ive a laliier's hlooil ! 



"Within lh\' I'lilher's house arc foes; 

Not all who l)rt'ak his hread are true: 
To these should I my hirth disclose, 

His days, iiis very hours, wei'c few: 
Tiiey oniy waul a lieart to lead, 
A hand to iioinl them to the deed. 
But Ilai'ouu only knows — or knew — 

This tale, whose close is almost ni<^h : 
He ill ;\l)dallah's palace t;;i'ow, 

And held llial post in his Serai 

Which he holds here — he saw him die: 
But what could sinjile slavery ilo ? 
Aven;i:e liis lortl ? alas! too late; 
Or save his son from such a fate ? 
He chose the last, and when elate 

With foes sulidncd, or friends hetray'd, 
Proud (iiallir in hi;;h triumph sate. 
He led me hel))less to liis j;'ate. 

And not in vain it seems essay'd 

To save the lil'e for which he pray'd. 
Till" kiiowled;ie of my hirth secaired 

l'"rom all and each, hut most from mc; 
Thus (iiallir's safety was insui'ed. 

Kemoved he loo from Roumelic 
To this our Asiatic side. 
Far from our seals hy ])amihe's tide. 

With none hut liaroiiu, who retains 
Such knowledjic- -and that Nubian feels 

A tyrant's secrets are hut chains. 
From wliich the captive jjiladly steals, 
And tlii-i and more to inc reveals: 
Such still lo ;:uilt just Allah sends — 
Slaves, tools, accomplices — no friends! 



"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds; 

Hut iiarshi-r still my tale must l)e ; 
Howe'er my ton;iU(! thy softness wounds, 

Yet I must (irove all truth to thee. 

I saw thee start this jiarl) to sec, 
Yet is it one I oi't have worn. 

Ami lon^r mu^t wear: this (Jaliongec, 
To wiiom thy ]ili;ilited vow is sworn, 

Is leader of those pirate hordes. 

Whose laws and lives are on their swords; 
To hear whose desolatin^i' tale 
Would inal;e Ihy waning check more jiale : 



118 THE BRIDE OF ADTDOS. [canto ii. 

Those arms tliou scc'st my band have brou!;ht, 
The hands that wiohl arc not ivnu)te ; 
Tliis cull too for the ruu'.U'ed knaves 

Is fill'd — onee <iuatl"d, they ne'er repine: 
Our rroiihot niiiiht Ibr-i'ive the shives; 

They 're only infidels in wine ! 



" What could 1 lie ? rroscrihed at home, 

And taunted to a wish to roam; 

And listless left— for (iiaffir's fear 

Denied the courser and the spear — 

Thouu'h oft — oh, Mohammed! how oft! — 

In full Divan the despot scotrd, 

As if 1111/ weak nnwiUini;' hand 

Eefnsed the bridle or the brand: 

lie ever went to war alime, 

And pent nie here \intried — unknown; 

To llaroun's care with wonu^n left, 

lly hope unitlest, of tame bereft. 

While thou — whose softness lonu' endear'd, 

Thouuh it unmaun'd me, still had eheer'd — 

To Hrnsa's walls for sal'ety sent, 

Awaitedst there the iield's event. 

llaroun, who saw my spirit ])inin£^ 

Heneath inaction's shiLriiish yoke, 
llis captive, though witii dread, resigning, 

My thraldom for a season broke. 
On promise to return iiefore 
The day wiieu (iiathr's charge was o'er, 
'Tis vain — my tongue can not impart 
Mv almost drunkenness of heart, 
AV"lien first this liberated eye 
Survey "d l-'artb. Ocean, Sun, and Sky, 
As if my spirit pierceil them through, 
And all theii- inmost wonders knew! 
One word alone can jiaint to thee 
That more than feeling — I was Free I 
E'en for thy jiresenee ceased to jiine; 
The World — nav — Heaven itsell" was mine! 



" The shallop of a trusty ^NToor 
Convev'd me from this idle shore; 
I loiig'd to see the isles that gem 
Old Ocean's purple diadem : 
I sought by turns, niid saw tiiem all :* 

But when and where I join'd the crew, 
M'ith whom Vux pledged to rise or fall, 

A\"hen all that we design to do 
Is done, 'twill then be time more ntect 
To tell thee, when the tale 's eom))letc, 

* Tlio Turkish notions ofalmost all islands iiro coufliicd to the Archipclajro, the 
sea alhuled to. 



CANTO II.] Tin: iiitJDJ': of ahydos. ii9 

XX. 

" Tis true, tlioy ;irc a lawless brood, 

liiil I'Dii^'li ill I'linii, nor iiiilil in mood; 

And every crcfd, and every race, 

Witli tlieiii liatii found — may lind — a place: 

lint oiien H|)eeeli, and ready hand, 

OheditMiee lo llieir eliief's eoiiiiiiand ; 

A soul for every enliM'prise, 

1'liat never sees wilii li'i'ror's eyes; 

Friendship for each, and lailh lo all, 

And venycaiiee \()\v'd for I hose who fall, 

Have made them lillili;^' iiiHtriinieiils 

For more than e'en my own intents. 

And some — and I have stuched all 
IJisliii;^iiish'd from the viii^iar ranlc, 

Bui eliielly to my eoiineil call 

Tlie wisdom of the cautious I""'rank — 

And some to hi;;her tlioii;ihts aspire, 
The last of Lainhro's jialriots there* 
Anticipated freedom sliar(!; 

And oft ai'oiiiKl the <'avern-(iro 

()n visionarv seheiiies dehate, 

1"o snatch tlu! liayahs from tJieir fate.f 

So li't tlieiii ease their hearts with prate 

Of ecpial ri;jhts, wiiich man ne'er knew; 

1 liavc a love for freedom loo. 
Ay ! let iiic like tlie o(X'aii-l'alriareli i-oaiii, X 
Oi' only know on land the 'I'arlar's home I \ 
^ly tent on shore, my ^allc^y on the s<;a. 
Are more than cities and Serais lo iik; : 
Borne iiy niy sleed, or wailed hy my sail. 
Across tLe desert, or hefore the j^ale, 
]5ound wliere thou will, my barb! or ^flide, my prow! 
But lie the star that t^iiides tiie wanderer, 'i'lioii 1 
Thou, my Zuleika! share and hiess my hark; 
Tlie Dove of |)ea<'e and promise lo miiU! ark ! 
()r, since that hope denied in worlds of sliife. 
Be thou the rainhow ti^ the sloi-ms of life ! 
The eveniii}^ iieain that sinihis the elou<l away, 
And tints to-morrow witii projihelie ray! 
]Jlest — as the Muc/zin's strain (roin .Mecca's wall 
To i)il;^rims pure and prostrates at his call; 
.Soft — as till' melod_\- of youthful days, 
I'hat steals the trcmhliii;^' tear of speechless praise; 

• I,iiiiil)n> Ciiiizniil, a (irccU, r.iiiioiis fi,v liN cfTortB In ]7K!»-nf), for tlio liidcpoii- 
llcucc of lils comilvv. Abaniloiiiil liv llic IIiissliiMs, Ik; hcciiiiic ii |iir.\t(% iiiid tlio 
Archi|iclii(;(. was the- sci-iio of \\U ciilcri.iisi'S. He Is said to 1m- still iillvi; ill St. 
ivtcrsliiirK. Ill; and lilga uro tho two most celtljruted of tlic (Jrock ruvolu- 
llonlsts. 

t " Ku.ynhs." dll who pny tho c-iipllntloii tiix, cnllcd tho " llaniloh." 

\ This' tlPHl of voyaKOS Is oiio ol the few with which tho JMusMihimns profess 
much a<'(|iialiitiui('r. 

^ Tho waiidcrlin,' llloof tho Aralis, Tiirtiirs, and Tiirkomnns, will lie foinid well 
iK'lallod III Miiv hook of Kasloni travels. Tiiiit It possesses n chnna poeiilhir to 
llsclf, ciiniiot 1)0 dollied. A voiiiiy Kroiioh roiie;fiid() confessed to ('linteiiiihrlaiid 
(lull ho never found himself jiloiio, Kailophiy In the desert, wltliiuil a sensation 
approaching to rapture which was liidescrihahle. 



120 'i^tJE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [canto u. 

Dear — as his native son-j to exile's cars, 

fcjhall souml each tone tliv lonj^-loveil voice ciuleurs. 

For tliee in those hriu'lit isles is built a bower 

Blooiiiiiijj as yVileii in its earliest liour.* 

A thon'^and swords, with Seliin's heart and hand, 

AVait — wave — detend — destroy — at tliy eomnumd ! 

(;irt by my band, Znlcika at my side, 

The spoil ol' nations sliall bedeck my bride. 

Tlie Ihueni's buiiiuid years of listless ease 

Are wi'll resii-n'd i'or eares — for joys like these: 

Not blind to late, I see, where'er 1 rove, 

Unninnber'd perils — but one only love! 

Yet well my toils shall that fond breast repay, 

Thonuii fortnne frown or falser friends betray. 

How dear the dream in darkest hours of ill, 

Should all be ehan^ed, to tind thee faitid'ul still! 

Be but thy sotd, like .Selim's, tirmly shown; 

To thee lie Selim's tender as tliine own ; 

To soothe each sorrow, share in each delight, 

Blend every thouuht, (lo all — bnt-disunite ! 

Onec free, 'tis mine our liorde ai;ain to yuide; 

Friends to eaeli other, foes to all beside : 

Yet there we follow but the l)ent assij,«-n'd 

By iatal Nature to man's warrinn' kind : 

^iark ! where his earnaLre and Ids conciuests cease! 

He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace ! 

I like the rest nuist use my skill or streniith, 

But ask no land beyond my sabre's length : 

Power sways hut by division — her resource 

The blest alternative of fraud or force! 

Oin's be the last; in time deceit may come 

AX'hen cities eajre us in a social home : 

There e'en thy soul niiuht err — how oft the heart 

Corruption shakes which peril eoidd not jiart! 

And woman, more than man, when death or woe, 

Or even disurace, woidd lay her lover low, 

Sunk in the lap of luxury will shame — 

Away suspicion I — not Zuleika's name! 

But life is hazard at tlie best ; anil here 

No nmro remains to win, and much to fear: 

Yes, fear! — the doubt, tiie dread of losinn' thee, 

Bv Osman's power, and (iiathr's stern decree. 

Tliat dread sliall vanish with the favoriiiL;" jjalo, 

Which Taivc to-ni;:iit liath promised to my sail: 

No dan^Acr daunts tlie pair Ids smile hath blest, 

Their steps still nnini;', but their hearts at rest. 

With thee all toils are swci't, each elime hath charms; 

JCarth — sea alike — our world witliiii our arms! 

Ay — let the loud winds whistle o'er tlic deck, 

So that those arms clini^ closer round my neck: 

The deepest murmur of this lip shall be 

No sijih for safety, but a ]M-ayer for thee ! 

The war of elemeuis no fears impart 

To Love, whose deadliest bane is human Art: 

• " JaiiniU al Ailon," tlic iiLM-pctiial aboilo, tlio Mussiilmau paradise. 




Oh ! — no iiioi'c — yet now my nioi'c than l)rotlicr ! 

I'tuje 121. 



CAXTO u.] Tin: JlltlDK OF ylltVDOS. J^l 

There lie tlie only rocks our course can check; 
Hire nioincnfs menace — there are yeai's of wrcclc ! 
iJut liencc ye tlioiij^lils lliat rise iu'llorroi's hliMjie! 
1'liis hour heslows, or ever burs esciipe. 
Few words rcuiain oC uiiue my tale to close : 
01" thine hut one to wait us IVoui our foes; 
Yea — foes — to uie will (iiatlh-'s liatc decline ? 
And is not 0>.umn, who would part us, thine ? 



"His head and faith from doubt and dralli 

IJelui'n'd in time my j^iiard to sa\c; 

Few heard, none told, (hat o'er the wave 
From isle to isle 1 roved the while : 
An<l since, 1hou;,'li iiarted from my hand, 
'J"oo seldom now I leave the land,' 
Ko deed they've done, nor deed shall do, 
]'h-e I have heard and dooui'd it too; 
I form the plan, decree the spoil, 
'Tis fit I oftcner share the toil. 
But now too lonj;- I 've liehl thine car; 
Time presses, iloats my hark", and here 
Wc leave behind hut hate and fear. 
To-morrow Osnnm with his train 
Arrives — to-nijilit nuist break thy chain: 
And wouldst thou save that hiiuihty Hey, 

r(!rehance, his life who jiave thee thine, 
AV'ith me this honr awa}- — awa_v 1 

]5ut yet, ihoii^^h thon art pli;4hted mine, 
Wouldst tlion recall thy willin;,' vow, 
Appall'd by truth impaVled now. 
Here rest 1 — not to see thee wed: 
But be that peril on my head ! " 

XXII. 

Zuleika, mute and motionless, 

Stood like liiMl statue of distress, 

When, her last hope for ever ffonc, 

The mother barden'd into stone; 

All in tiie niai<l tbat eye could sec 

Was but a youn;ier Niol)c. 

But ere her lip, or e'en her eye, 

Essay'il to Hi)eak, or look ivjily, 

Beneath the f;ard(>n's wicket jiorcli 

Far ilash'd on hi^li a blay.in;^- toreli ! 

Another — and another— and another — 

" Oh !— no more— yet now mj- more than brother ! ' 

Far, wide, thi'ouyh every thicket spread. 

The feaifid lijihts are {^Icanunji- reil; 

Nor thes(,' ahnie — for each i-i^iil iiand 

Is ready with a siieathless bi'and. 

They jiarl, jMirsue, return, and wheel 

Witli searcbin;,'' Haml)eau, .-hiuin;^ steel; 

And last of all, bis sal)re wavin;:-, 

Btcrn (iiathr in his fiuT raviii'r: 



122 ^JI^ BRIDE OF ABTDOS. [canto ii. 

And now almost thoy touch the cave — 
Oh ! must that yrot "be .Selim's y rave ? 

XXIII. 

Dauntless he stood — " 'Tis come — soon past — 
One kiss, ZuleiUa — 'tis my last : 

15ut yet mv band not far from shore 
!May liear tins signal, see the llasli; 
Yet now too few — the attempt were rash: 

No matter — yet one etlbrt more." 
Forth to the cavern moiitli he slept ; 

His jiistol's echo rang on high, 
Zuleika started not nor wept, 

Despair lienumb'd her breast and eye ! — 

" Tliey hear me not, or if they ply 

Their oars, 'tis but to sec me die; 

That sound liath drawn mv foes more nigh. 
Then forth my fatlier's scimitar, 
Tliou ne'er luist seen less equal war ! 

Farewell, Zuleika! — Sweet! retire: 
Yet stay witiiin — liere linger sale. 
At tliee his rage will only chafe. 
Btir not — le»t even to thee perehancc 
JSome erring hlatlc or ball should glance. 

Fear'st tliou for him : — mav 1 expire 

If iu this strife I seek thy sire! 
No — though by him tliat poison pour'd : 
iSTo — thou^rh airain lie call me coward! 
But tamely shaU I meet tlieir sted ? 
No — as each erest save fiis may feel! " 

XXIV. 

One bound he made, and gaiu'd the sand: 

Already at his feet hath" sunk 
The foremost of tlie prying band, 

A gasping heail, a quivering trunk: 
Another falls — but round him close 

A swaruiing circle of his foes; 
From right to left liis path he cleft, 

And almost met the meeting wave : 
His boat appears — not five oars' length — 
His ct)HU'ailes strain with desperate strength — 

Oh! are they yet in time to save i" 

His feet the foremost breakers lave; 
His bantl are plunging in the hay. 
Their s:vbres glitter through the spray; 
Wet — wild — unwearied to the strand 
Tliey struggle — now they touch the land! 
TheV come — 'tis but to add to slaugliter — 
His lieai-t's best blood is ou the water ! 

XXV. 

Escaped from shot, uuharm'd by steel, 
Or scarcely grazed its force to feel. 
Had Selim won, betray'd, beset. 
To where the strand and billows met: 



CANTO II.] THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 123 

There as his last step left the land, 
And the hvA deatli-blow dealt his hand — 
Ah ! whci-cforc did he turn to look 

For her his eye but sou<^ht in vain ? 
That pause, that fatal gaze he took, 

Ilath doom'd his death, or fix'd his chain. 
Sad proof, in peril and in pain, 
How late will Lover's hope remain ! 
His back was to the dashing spray ; 
Behind, but close, his comrades lay. 
When, at the instant, hiss'd the ball — 
" So may the foes of Giaffir fall ! " 
Wliose voice is lieard ? whose carbine rang ? 
"Whose bullet tlirough the night-air sang. 
Too nearly, deadly aini'd to err ? 
'Tis tliine — Abdallah's Murderer ! 
The father slowly rued thy hate, 
The son hath found a quicker fate : 
Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling, 
Tlie Avhitencss of the sea-foam troubling — 
If aught his lips essaj^'d to groan, 
The rushing billows choked the tone ! 



Morn slowly rolls the clouds aivay ; 

Few trophies of the fight are there : 
The shouts that shook the midnight-bay 
Are silent ; but some signs of fray 

That strand of strife may bear, 
And fragments of each shiver'd brand ; 
Steps stamp'd ; and dash'd into the sand 
The print of many a struggling hand 

May there be niark'd ; nor far remote 

A broken torch, an oarless boat ; 
And tangled on the weeds that heap 
The beach where shelving to the deep 

There lies a white capote ! 
'Tis rent in twain — one dark-red stain 
The wave yet ripples o'er in vain : 

But where is he who wore ? 
Ye ! who would o'er his relics weep, 
Go, seek them where the surges sweep 
Their burden round Sigjeum's steep, 

And cast on Lemnos' shore : 
The sea-birds shriek above tlie prey, 
O'er which their hungry beaks delay, 
As shaken on his restless pillow. 
His head heaves with the heaving billow; 
That hand, whose motion is not life. 
Yet feebly seems to menace strife. 
Flung by the tossing tide on high. 
Then levell'd with tlie wave — 
What recks it, though that corse shall lie 

Within a living grave ? 
The bird tliat tears that prosti'ate form 
Hath only rol>b'd the meaner worm : 



124 TK£ BRIDE OF ABYDOS. [c.vnto li 

The only heart, the only eye 
]I;ul bled or wept to see" liiin die, 
Had seei» those scatter'd limbs composed, 
And nioiini'd above his turban-stone,* 
That heart hath burst — that eye was elosed — 
Yea — elusL'd before his own! 

XXVII. 

By Ilelle's stream there is a voiec of wail! 

And woman's eye is wet — man's cheek is pale : 

Zuleika! last ol" Giatfir's race, 

Thj' destined lonl is eorae too late : 

He sees not — ne'er shall see — thy face ! 
Can be not hear 

The louil \\'ul-\vu]U'h warn his distant ear ?t 
Thy hanchuaids weopiuu' at the j^ate, 
Tlie Koran-chanters of the hymn of fate, 
Tlic silent slaves with folded arms that W'ait, 

Sighs in tlie hall, and shrieks upon the gale, 
Tell him thy tale ! 

Thou didst not view thy Sclim fill! 

That fearful moment when he left the cave 
Thy heart grew chill : 

He was thy hope — thy joy — thy love— thine all — 
And that last thought on him tliou couldst not save 
Sufficed to kill; 

Burst forth in one wild cry — and all was still. 
Peace to thy liroken heart, and virgin grave! 

Ah! happv ! i)ut of life to lose the worst! 

That griel' — though deep — tliough fatal — was thy first! 

Thriec happy ! ne'er to feel nor fear the force 

Of absence, shame, pride, hate, revenge, remorse-. 

And, oh! that jiang where more than madness lies! 

The worm that will not sleep — ami ni-vcr dies; 

Thought of the gloomy day antl ghastly night, 

That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light, 

That winds around, and tears the quivering- heart! 

Ah ! wherefore not consume it — and de|iart ! 

"Woe to thee, rash and um-elenting chief! 
Vainly thou heap'st the dust upon thy head, 
Vainly the sackcloth o'er thy lindis doth spread; 
By that same ham! Alxlallah— Selim— l)led. 

Now let it tear thy beard in idle grief; 

Thy pride of heart, thy iiride for Osman's bed. 

She, whom thv Sultan had but seen to w^ed. 
Thy Daughter's dead! 
Hope of thine age, thy twilight's lonely beam. 
The star hath set tliat shone on Helle's stream. 

"What quench'd its ray ? — the blood that thou hust shed ! 

Hark ! to the hurried question of Despair: 

" Where is my child ? " — an Echo answers — '• Where ? " J 

* A tnrban is carved in stone above tlic graves of mcM only. 

t Tlie death-song of tlio Tiukisli women. Tlie "silent slaves" arc the men, 
■«\'hose notions of deeornni forliid (■(iini)l:iint in piihlic. 

J " I came to the place of my liiilh, ;uul cried, ' The friends of my youth, where 
are they?' and an Echo answered, ' Where are they':" " — From anArahic MS. 

The libove quotation (li-om which the idea in the text is taken) must be alreaciy 



CANTO II.] THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 125 

xxTin. 
Within the place of thousand tombs 

That shine beneath, while dark above 
Tlie sad l)iit livin": cypress ylooms, 

And williers uot, though branch and leaf 
Ai'e stanip'd with an eternal grief, 

Like early unrequited Love, 
One spot exists, which ever blooms, 

E'en in that ik'adly grove — 
A single rose is shedding there 

Its lonely lustre, meek and pale; 
It looks as planted by Despair — 

.So white — so faint — the slightest gale 
Might whirl the leaves on high; 

And yet, iJiough storms and blight assail. 
And hands moi-e rude than wintry sky 
]SIay wring it from the stem — in vain — 
To-morrow sees it bloom again! 
The stalk some spirit gently rears, 
And waters >\'ith celestial tears ; 

For well may maids of Ilelle deem 
That this can be no earthly flower, 
"VVhicli mocks the tempest's withering hour, 
And buds uusheltei-'d l)y a bower; 
Kor droops, though spring refuse her shower. 

Nor \vooes tlie summer l^eam : 
To it the livelong night there sings 
A bird unseen — but not remote ; 
Imisible his aiiy wings, 
But soft as hai-p that Ilouri strings 

His long entrancing note ! 
It were the Bulbul ; but his throat. 

Though mournful, pours not such a strain : 
For they wlio listen cannot leave 
The spot, but linger there and grieve, 

As if they loved in vain ! 
And yet so sweet tlic tears they shed, 
'Tis sorrow so unmix'd with dread, 
They scarce can bear the morn to break 

Tliat melancholy spell. 
And longer yet would weep and wake, 

lie sings so wild and well ! 
But when the day-blush bursts from high 
Exph'cs that magic melody. 
And some have been who could believe, 
(So fondly youthful dreams deceive, 

Yet harsli Vie thty that blame,) 
That note so piercing and profound 
Will shape and syllable its sound 
Into Zuleika's name.* 

familiar to every reader — it is ffivcn in tlio first aiuiotation, p. 67, of" The Pleas- 
ures of Memory; " a. poem so well linowii ;is to remier a reference almost super- 
fluous, hut to whose pages all will he deli^-'lileil to recur. 

* " And airy toiijiues that syllable men's names." — Milton. 
For a he'-ief that the souls of the dead inhabit the Ibrm of birds, we need not 
travel to tlie East. Lord Lytteltons ghost story, the belief of the Duchess of 



126 THE BRIDE OF ABTDOS. [canto il. 

'Tis from her cypress' summit heard. 

That melts in air the liquid word; 

'Tis from her lo\vl_y virgin earth 

That white rose takes its tender bii-th. 

There late was laid a marble stone ; 

Eve saw it placed — the ^lorrow gone ! 

It was no mortal arm that bore 

That deep fixed pillar to the shore ; 

For there, as llelle's legends tell, 

Next morn 'twas found where Selim fell; 

Lash'd by the tumbling tide, whose wave 

Denied his bones a holier grave : 

And there by night, reclined, 'tis said, 

Is seen a ghastly turban'd head : 
And hence extended by tbe billow, 
'Tis named the " Pirate-phantom's pillow ! " 
Where first it lay that mourning flower 
Hath flourish'd ; flourisheth this hour, 

Alone and dewy, coldly pure and pale ; 

As weeping Beauty's check at Sorrow's tale ! 

Ksndal, that George I. flew into her window in the shape of a raven (see Gi- 
fcrd's "Kcminiscences"), and many other instances, bring tliis superstition 
nearer home. The most singuUir was the whim of a Worcester lady, who. be- 
jeving herdauglitev to exist in the shape of a singing-bird, literally fnrnishea 
ner pew in the cathedral with cages full of the kind; and as she was rich, and 
r> benefactress In beautifying the church, no objection was made to her harmless 
foJly. For this anecdote, see Orfords "■ Letters." 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



TO 

JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ., 

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED 
BY HIS 

FRIEND. 

jAmiAET 22, 1816. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



" The grand army of the Turks, (in 1715,) under the Prime Vizior, to open to 
themselves a way into tlie heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli 
di Komania, the most considerable place in all that country,* thought it best in 
the first place to attacls. Corinth, upon which they made several storms. The 
garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impossible to hold out 
against so mighty a force, thought it fit to boat a parley ; but while they were 
treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish army, wherein 
they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or 
seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would 
not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they 
took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the 
sword. The rest, with Antonio Bembo, proveditor extraordinary, were made 
prisoners of war."— IJis/ori/ of the Turks, vol. iii. p. 151. 

* Napoli di Romania is not now the most considerable place in the Morea, 
but Tripolitza, where the Pacha resides, and maintains his government. 
Napoli is near Argos. I visited all three in ISIO-U; and, in the course of 
iourneving through the countrv from my first arrival in 180'J, I crossed the 
Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to the Morea, over the mountanis. 
or in the otlier direction, when passing from the Gulf of Athens to that ol 
Lepanto. Both the routes are picturesque and beautiful, though very ditlerent: 
that bv sea lias more sameness; but the voyage being always within sight ol 
land, and often very near it, presents many attractive views ot the islan-w 
Salamis, .Sgina, I'oro, &c., and the coast of the continent. 

127 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 



I. 

Man^" a vanishM year ami age, 

AikI tempest's breath, ami battle's rajrc, 

Have swept o'er Coriiitb ; vet she stands 

A fortress forniM to FreeiioiTrs hands. 

The wliirlwiiid's wrath, the earthtiuake's shock. 

Have k»i't iintoueh'd her hoary roi'k, 

The keystone of a land, which still, 

Thou.iXh fidl'u, looks prondly on that hill, 

T!ie landnKirk to tlie ilouble tide 

Th;it inirplini:' rolls on either siite, 

As if their w:ilers chated to meet, 

Yet pause ;iiid crouch beneath her feot. 

But could the blood before her shed 

Since iirst Timoleon's brother bled, 

Or baffled Persia's despot tied. 

Arise from out the earth which drank 

The stream of slauuliter as it s;ink, 

That sauuuine ocean would o'erliow 

Her isthuuis idly si)read below : 

Or couKl the bones of all the slain, 

Who perish'd there, be piled again, 

That rival )iyramid would rise 

More mountain-like, through those clear skies. 

Than you towcr-capp'd Acropolis, 

Which seems the very clouds to kiss. 



On dun ( "itluvron's ridge appears 
The gleam of twice ten thousand spears; 
Anil downward to the l^lluuiau plain. 
From shore to shore of either nuiiu, 
The tent is pitch'd, the Crescent shines 
Along the Moslem's Icjigucriug lines; 
And the dusk Spahis' bands advance 
Beneath each bearded jiacha's glance; 
And far and wide as eye can reach 
The turban'd cohorts throng the beach; 
And there the Arab's camel kneels. 
And there his steed the Tartar wheels ; 

12S 



THE SIEGE OF CORIXTH. I2g 

The Turoonian liath loft liis herd,* 
Tlic sahrc round his loins to j;'inl ; 
Anil there tlii! volleyiii;;' thnnders pour, 
Till waves ^row smoother to thi' roar. 
The trench is dn^', tlie cannon's hn'atli 
M'iu'i's the I'ar hissin^^' ji'loijc of dealh ; 
Fast whirl tlie fragments from the wall, 
Which crnmhlcs with the pondei'ous hall; 
And from that wall the foe rei)lies> 
(Ver dnsly plain and smoky sl^ics, 
^\'ilh lircs that aiiswei' fast and well 
The summons of the Inlidel. 

III. 

Bnt near and nearest to the wall 
Of those who wish and work its fall, 
With deeper skill in war's hlack art 
Than Othnian's sons, and high of heart 
As any chief that ever stood 
Triunipliant in tlu; fields of hlood ; 
From post to (lost, and <lee(l to deed. 
Fast spurring on his recking steed, 
AVhere sallying ranks the trench assail, 
And make the foremost Moslem ([iiail; 
Or where the hattery, guarded well, 
Remains as yet impregnaiile, 
Alighting chcerly to inspire 
The soldier slackening in liis fire; 
The first and fresliest of the host 
Which .Stamlioul's Snltan there can boast, 
To guide the follower o'er the field, 
To point the tuhe, the lanec to wield. 
Or whirl around the hiekering blade; — 
Was Alp, the Adrian renegade ! 

IV. 

From Venice — once a race of worth 

His gentle sires — he drew his l)irth; 

Hilt late an exile from lier shore, 

Against his countrymen he bore 

The arms thev taught to bear; and now 

The turban gu't his shaven brow. 

Through many a chaiigc had Corinth pass'd 

With (ireece to ^'enice' rule at last; 

And here, before her walls, with those 

To Greece and Venice ecpuil foes, 

He stood a foe, with all the zeal 

Which young and fiery converts feel, 

Within whose lieated bosom throngs 

The memory of a thousand wiongs. 

To him had ^^eniee eeased to be 

Her ancient civic boast — " the Free ; " 

* The Ufo of the Tiircoiuinis is wnmicriiig and patriarchal: they dwell in 
tents. 



130 THE SIEGE OF CORINTn. 

And in the palace of St. ISIark 
Unuanied accusers in the dark 
■\Vithin the " Lion's inoiitli " had placed 
A charne against him nnetfaccd : 
ITc fled in time, and saved his life, 
To waste his future years in strife, 
That tau<rlit his land how great her loss 
In liini wlio triumph'd o'er tlie Cross, 
'Gainst wliich he rear'd the Crescent high, 
And battled to avenge or die. 

V. 

Coumourgi — he whose closing scene * 
Adorn'd tlie triumph of Eugene, 
When on Carlowitz' hloody plain. 
The last and mightiest of the slain, 
lie sank, regretting not to die. 
But cursed the Cln-istian's victoiy — 
Coumourgi — can his glory cease. 
That latest conqueror of Greece, 
Till Christian hands to Greece restore 
The freedom Venice gave of yore ? 
A hundred years have roU'd away 
Since he retix'd the jSIoslem's sway, 
And now he led the Mussulman, 
And gave the guidance of the van 
To Alp, wlio well repaid the trust 
By cities levell'd with the dust ; 
And proved, by many a deed of death, 
How firm his heart in novel faith. 

VI. 

The walls grew weak ; and fast and hot 

Against them pour'd the ceaseless shot, 

AVith unaliating fury sent. 

From l)attery to battlement ; 

And thuuder-likc tlie pealing din 

Rose from each heated culveriu; 

And hei'c aud there some crackling dome 

Was fired before the exploding bomb : 

And as the fabric sank beneath 

The shattering shell's volcanic breath, 

In red and wreathing columns flash'd 

The flame, as loud the ruin crash'd, 

Or into countless meteors driven. 

Its earth-stars melted into heaven; 

* Ali Coumotirgi, the favorite of three sultans, and Grand Vizier to Ach- 
met III., after recovering Teloponnesus fTom the Venetians in one campaign, 
was mortally wonntled in the next, against the (leinuuis, at the battle of 
Petenvardein (in tlie plain of Carlowitz), in llnn^urv. i luleavoring to rally 
his guards. lie died of his wounds next day. llis last order was the decapi- 
tation of (ieniTal I'.iviu\or, and some other Gerniau prisoners; and his last 
Words, ■■Oli that 1 could thus serve all tlie Christian do,i.'s ! " a speech and act 
Jim luiliki' oiii.' of Caligula, lie was a yinnig man of great ambition and un- 
bounded presumption: on being t<ild tliat Trince Eugene, th'Mi O]iposed to 
him, " was a great general," he said, " I shall become a greater, and at his 
«xpense." 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 131 

Whose clouds that day fjrew doulily dun 
Impervious to the liiddcn sun, 
With vohinied smoke that slowly grcvr 
To one wide sky of sulphurous hue. 

VII. 

But not for vengeance, long delay'd, 
Alone, did Alp, the renegade. 
The Moslem warriors sternly teach 
His skill to pierce the promised hreach : 
Within those walls a maid was pent 
His hope would win, without consent 
Of that inexorable sire, 
Whose heart refused him in its ire. 
When Alp, hcncath his Christian name, 
Her vir^iin hand aspired to claim. 
In hapjiicr mood, and earlier time, 
While unimpcach'd for traitorous crime, 
Gayest in gondola or hall. 
He gliitcr'd tliroiijih the Carnival; 
And tuned tlie softest serenade 
That e'er on Adria's waters play'd 
At midnight to Italian maid. 

VIII. 

And many deem'd her heart was won; 

For sought by luimbers, given to none, 

Had young Francesca's hand reniain'd 

Still i)y the church's bonds unchaiu'd : 

And when the Adriatic bore 

Lanciotto to the Paynim shore, 

Her wonted smiles were seen to fail, 

And pensive wax'd the maid and pale ; 

Moi'e constant at confessional. 

More rare at masque and festival ; 

Or seen at such with downcast eyes. 

Which conquer'd hearts they ceased to prize ! 

With listless look she seems to gaze ; 

W"ith humbler care her form arrays; 

Her voice less lively in the song; 

Her step, though light, less Heet among 

The pairs, on whom the Morning's glance 

Breaks, yet unsated with the dance. 

IX. 

Sent by the state to guard the land, 
(Which, wrested from the Moslem's hand, 
While Sobicski tamed his pride 
Bv Buda's wall and Danulie's side, 
The chiefs of Venice wrung away 
From I'atra to Eubtea's bay,) 
!Minotti held in Corinth's towers 
The Doge's delegated powers. 
While yet the pitying eye of Peace 
Smiled o'er her long-forgotten Greece : 
And ere that faithless truce was broke 
Which freed her from the unchristian j'oke. 



K52 i^iii- >//-''/■' OF conixTir. 

Willi liiiu his MOiitlo (hmiilitor ciimo; 
Nor tlii'io, sinco Miiiohuis' diiiiio 
l'\>i-<(H>lv lu-r lunl uiiil laiul. to |ivovo 
W'luit woi's !i\v;iil (in l;iwU"ss lovo, 
ll;nl fiuivr form fuloruM tin- sl\oro 
Tluiu slio, tiio ui;U>'l>K-ss >lr;iu^vr, \wvo. 



TUo Willi is ivnt, tlio ruins yawn, 
Aiul, Willi to-i\u>n'ow's oiU'liost iliuvti, 
O'or tho (lisjoiiili.ll mass shall vault, 
Tlu> foi-'Uiost of the fuTco assiiuh. 
Till" hands arc laiikM ; (!»(.' cIiosimi van 
or Tartar aiul of Mussulman, 
Tho lull of hope, uiisiiaiuod "' lorlorn," 
Who hold the tlioiiuhl ol' doath in srorn, 
And win liu'ir wav with falchion's force, 
Or pave the palh with inaiiv a eovse. 
O'er which the following' lirav^i may I'ise, 
Thoir stc\>\)inj;-slone— the last who dies! 

XI. 

Tis midnight : on the mminlains hrowr. 

The cold, round tuooii shines deei>ly dowu: 

lUiu- roll the waters, hliic Ihe sky 

^lircads like an ocean lilinu' on hii;h, 

liesiiaii.uled with those isles of lif;lit, 

ISo wildly, spiritually hiiu'hl ; 

\\'lio ever i;ay.ed upon them shiiiini;-, 

And turn'd to earili without rcpininu'. 

Nor vvisli'd for winus to lice away, 

And mix with their eternal ray ? 

The waves on either shore lay there, 

Calm, clear, and a/.ure as the air; 

And scarce their t'oam the pehhles shook, 

But murniur'd meekly as tlie hrook. 

The winds were pillowd mi the waves; 

'i'lie hanucrs droop'd alonu their slaves, 

And, as tiiey fell aniuiul them furlin'i', 

Above them shone the crescent oiirlinij; 

And that deep silence was nnhroko, 

iSavc where the watch his signal spoke, 

8ave where the siced ncii;h'd oft and shrill, 

And echo answer'd I'rom the hill. 

And the wide hum of that wild host 

Hustled like leaves from coast t(> coast, 

As rose the Mue//in's voice in air 

lt> midniuhl call to wonted ))rayer; 

It rose, tiiat chanted mournful strain, 

Like smne lone spirit's o'er the plain : 

'Twas musical, hut sadly sweet, 

ISuch as when winds and harp-strinj-s meet, 

And take a lonu' unmeasured tone, 

To mortal minslrelsv unknown. 

It secut'il to those w\lhii\ the wall 

A cry prophetic of their fall: 



77//; SIIJIK OF COlt/XTlI. JJJ 

It stniclv even Uic lioHiojjcrs' i-ar 
Willi sdmctliiiij,'' oiiiiiioiis iiiiil drciir, 
All iiii(|c(iiu'il Mini siidilcii llirill, 
Wliirli iii:iIm< Ijic lii';ir(. ii iiioiiiciil still, 
'I'licli lii'Ml Willi ((iiickcr pulse, ;is|i!iiii('(l 
Ol' tli:it slriiii;;(; sense; its silence iViiiiicd : 
Sneli us II siidilen |i;issin;j:-l)oll 
M'likes, tli()ii;;li hut, Cor a stniii^cr's knell. 

XII. 
The tent, of Alp was on the shore; 
The soiiikI was liiish'd, the priiyer was o'er; 
The wateli was set, the ni;^iit-roiind made, 
All inundates issued and ohey'd : 
'Tis hilt another anxious iiij;lit. 
His piiiiis the morrow may reipiile 
With all re\-eiiL;e and love can pay, 
111 n'nefdon lor iheir Ion;; di'liiy. 
l'\'w hours reinain, iiiid he hath need 
or resl, to nerve for many a deed 
Of slan;iiiler; hiil, within' his soul 
Tile tliouj^lils liUi' troiihled waters roll, 
]le stood alone aiiioii^"- llie host ; 
Not, his ihe loud rMiiiitie lioasi 
To plant, Ihe ( 'ivseeiil, o'er the Cross, 
Or risk a life with little loss. 
Secure in Paradise; to lie 
By lloiiris loved iinmorliilly : 
Nor his, what, hiirnin^^ patriots fci;! 
'I'lie stem evaltedness of y,v,\], 
rrol'iise ol" hlood, iiiilired in toil, 
\\'lieii liattlin;,' on the parenl. soil. 
He stood aloiK' — a renc^^ade 
A^iainst, the couiilrv he lietriiy'd. 
lie stood alone amidst his haiid, 
Willioiil a Iriisled heart, or Iiaiid : 
Tiiey foUow'd him, for he was iiravc, 
And ^;real, the spoil lie mo(, mnl nave; 
They cidiicli'd to him, for he had skill 
To war)) and wield the vulvar will : 
But still his Christiiin ori;,^!! 
With tlieiii was little less than sin. 
They envied even the faithless fame 
1I(; earii'd henealh u Moslem iiiime : 
.Since he, Iheir mi;;liliesl chief, had hecn 
III youth, a hitler Na/.arene. 
They did not know how pride can stoop, 
When lialHed feeliii^rs withering' droop; 
They did not know how hale ciiii burn 
In hearts once cliMn;:cd from soft to stern; 
Nor all Ihe false and fatal zeal 
Tiie convert of reven;;e can feel. 
lie ruled them — man may rule the worst; 
By ever ilariii^'' to he lirst': 
So lions o'er the jackal swiiy ; 
The JMckal points, he Tells tlic prey, 



134 THE SIEGE OF COniXTIL 

Then on the vulvar yelling press, 
To gorge the relics of success. 

XIII. 

His head grows fever'd, and his pulse 

The quick successive throbs convulse ; 

In vain from side to siilc hs throws 

His form, in courtship of repose ; 

Or if he dozed, a sound, a start 

Awoke him with a sunken heart. 

The turban on his hot l)row press'd, 

The mail weigh'd lead-like on his breast, 

Thoujjh oft and long beneath its weight 

Upon his eyes had sluml)er sate, 

Without or couch or canopy. 

Except a rougher lield and sky 

Than now might yield a warrior's bed, 

Than now along the heaven was spread. 

He could not rest, he could not stay 

"Within his tent to wait for day, 

But walk'd him forth along the sand, 

"Where thousand sleepers strew'd the strand. 

"What pilknv'd them ? and why should he 

More wakeful than the humblest be ? 

Since more their peril, worse their toil, 

And yet they fearless dream of spoil ; 

"While he alone, where thousands pass'd 

A night of sleep, perchance their last. 

In sickly vigil wander'd on. 

And envied all he gazed upon. 

XIV. 

He felt his soul become more light 
Beneath the freshness of the night. 
Cool was the silent sky, though calm, 
And bathed his brow with airy balm : 
Behind, the camp — licforc him lay, 
In many a winding creek and bay, 
Lepanto's gulf; and on the brow 
Of Delphi's hill, unshaken snow. 
High and eternal, such as shone 
Through thousand summers brightly gone, 
Along the gulf, the mount, the clime; 
It will not melt, like man, to time : 
Tyrant and slave are swept away, 
Less forni'd to wear before the ray ; 
But ilvM. white veil, the lightest, frailest. 
Which on the mighty mount thou hailest, 
While tower and tree are torn and rent. 
Shines o'er its craggy battlement ; 
In form a ])cak, in height a cloud, 
In texture like a hovering shroud, 
Thus liigh by parting Freedom spread. 
As from her fond abode she tied. 
And linger'd on the sjiot, where long 
Her prophet spirit spake in song. 



THE SIEGE OF CORIXTIL 135 

Oh ! still hci" step at moments fixlters 
O'er withcr'd liclds and ruin'd altars, 
And fain would wake, in souls too broken, 
By pointinj:^ to each {rlorious token. 
But vain her voice, till better days 
Dawn in tliose yet remeraber'd rays, 
"Which shone upon the Pei'sian flying, 
And saw the (Spartan smile in dying. 

XV. 

Not mindless of these mighty times 

Was Alp, despite his flight aud crimes; 

And through this night, as on he wandcr'd, 

And o'er the past and present pondcr'd, 

And thought upon the gloi'ious dead 

AVho there in better cause had bled, 

lie felt how faint and feebly diui 

The fame tbat could accrue to him, 

Who checr'd the band, and waved the sword 

A traitor in a turbaii'd horde; 

And led them to the lawless siege, 

Whose liest success were sacrilege. 

Not so had those his fancy nuniber'd, 

The chiefs whose dust around him slumber'd; 

Their phalanx marshall'd on the ])l:iin, 

Whose bulwarks were not then in vain. 

They fell devoted, but undying; 

The verj' gale their names seem'd sighing: 

The waters murmur'd of their name; 

The woods were peopled with tlieir fame; 

The silent pillar, lone and gray, 

Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay; 

Their spirits wrapt the dusky mountain, 

Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain; 

The meanest rill, the mightiest river, 

Boll'd mingling with their fame for evei\ 

Despite of every yoke she bears. 

That land is glory's still, and theirs ! 

'Tis still a watchword to the earth : 

When man would do a deed of worth 

He points to (ireece, and turns to tread, 

So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head : 

He looks to her, and rushes on 

Where life is lost, or frecilom won. 



Still bj- the shore Alp mutely mused, 
And woo'd the freshness night dilfused. 
There shrinks no ebb in that tideless sea,* 
Which changeless rolls eternally ; 
So that wildest of waves, in their angriest mood, 
Scarce break on the bounds of the land for a rood; 
And the powerless moon beholds them flow. 
Heedless if she come or go : 

• The reader need liardly tie remindeU t'lat tlioro are no perceptible tides in 
the Mediterranean. 



136 THE SIEGE OF CORIXTH. 

Calm or liig'h, in main or bay, 

On their course slic hath no sway. 

Tlic rock unworn its base doth bare, 

And looks o'er the surf, l)ut it conies not there ; 

And the fringe of the foam may b.c seen below. 

On the line that it left lon<r ages ago : 

A smooth short space of yellow sand 

Between it and the greener land. 

He wandor'd on, along the beach. 

Till within the range of a carbine's reach 

Of the Icagucr'd wall ; but they saw him not, 

Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot, 

Did traitors lurk in the Christian's hold ? 

Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts wax'd cold, 

I know not, in sooth ; but from yonder Mall 

There flash'd no fire, and there hiss'd no ball, 

Thougli he stood beneath the bastion's frown, 

That iiank'd tlie seaward gate of the town ; 

Though lie heard the sound, and CSiild almost tell 

The sullen words of the sentinel, 

As his measured step on the stone below 

Clank'd, as he paced it to and fro ; 

And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall 

Hold o'er the dead their carnival, 

Gorging and growling o'er carcass and liml)! 

They were too busy to bai-k at him ! 

From a Tartar's skull they had stripp'd the flesh, 

As _ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh ; 

And their white tusks cruuch'd o'er the whiter skull,* 

As it slipp'd through their jaws, when their edge grew dull. 

As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead. 

When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed ; 

So well had they In'oken a lingering fast 

With those who had fall'n for that night's I'cpast. 

And Alji knew, bj' the turbans that roU'd on the sand. 

The foremost of these were the best of his band : 

Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear. 

And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,t 

All the rest was shaven and bare. 

The scalps were in the wild-dog's maw. 

The hair was tangled round his jaw. 

But close by the shore, on the edge of the gulf, 

There sat a ^•ulture flapping a wolf, 

Who had stolen from the hills, but kept aAvay, 

Scared by the dogs, from the human prey ; 

But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, 

Pick'd by the birds, on the sands of the bay. 

* This spoctarlp I have soon, such as desoribod, Iipncath the wall of the Scraglic 
at C'oiistaiitiuoiili'. in tlip little cavities worn liy the liosplioriis in tlic rock, a nar- 
row terrace of wliicli pmjects Ijctuccn tlic wall aiul tlic water. I think the fact 
is also mentioned in Ihiiiliouse's Travels. The bodies were probably those ot 
some refractory .Janizaries. 

t This tiift, or Ions lock, is left from a superstition that Mohammed will draw 
tliem into paradise by it. 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 137 

XYII. 

Alp turn'd him from the sickcniii','- siyht : 

Never had shaken his nerves in fifiht ; 

But he l)etter could hrook to behold the dyin^*-, 

Deep in the tide of their warm blood lyinj;-, 

Scorch'd with the death-thirst, and writhing in vain, 

Than the perishing dead who are past all pain. 

There is something of jiride in the perilous liour, 

Whate'cr be the shajjc in which death may lour; 

For Fame is there to say who bleeds, 

And Honor's eye on daring deeds! 

lint when all is past, it is humbling to tread 

O'er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 

And sec worms of the earth, and fowls of the air, 

Beasts of the forest, all gathering there ; 

All regarding man as their prey. 

All rejoicing in his decay. 

XVIII. 

There is a temple in ruin stands, 

Fashion'd by long-forgotten hands ; 

Two or three columns", and many a stone. 

Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown ! 

Out upon Time ! it will leave no more 

Of the things to come than the things before ! 

Out upon Time ! wlio for ever will leave 

But enough of the past for the future to grieve 

O'er that which hath liccn, and o'er that which must be! 

"What we have seen, our sons shall see ; 

Eemnauts of things that have pass'd away. 

Fragments of stone, rear'd Ijy creatures of clay ! 

XIX. 

He sate him down at a pillar's base. 

And pass'd his hand athwart Ids liice ; 

Like one in dreary musing mood, 

Declining was his* attitude ; 

His head was drooping on his breast, 

Fcver'd, throbbing, and opprest; 

And o'er his Ijrow, so downward bent, 

Oft his beating fingers went. 

Hurriedly, as you may see 

Your own run over the ivory kev'. 

Ere tlic measured tone is taken,' 

By the chords you would awaken. 

There he sate till heavily. 

As he heard the night-wind sigh. 

Was it the wind, through some hollow stone,* 

* I must here acknowledge a cldse, tliough luiinteiitinnnl, rcseinblanco in 
these twelve lines to a passage in an unpublislied pooin of Jlr. Coliridg-o, called 
"Christabel." It was not till after tlics<3 lines were written iliat 1 licard tliat 
wild and singularly original and licantiful ixicm recited; and tlic .MS. of tliat 
])n«luction I never saw till very reeentlv, bv tlie l;iiulness of .Mr. ( 'oleridge liim- 
self, who. I hope, is convinced tliat I have not been a v iltnl plagiarist. The 
original idea nndoubtcdly pertains to Jlr. Coleridge, whose poem lias been com- 
posed above fourteen years. Let nie conclude by a ho])e tliat lie will not loni'er 
delay the publication of a production of which I can only add my miio of appro- 
bation to the applause ot far more competent judges. 



138 THE SIEGE OF CORIXTir. 

Sent that soft ami tender mcrai ? 

lie lilted his head, ami ho IcokM on the sea, 

Hut it was inirippled as glues may he; 

lie look'ii on tl.^ long gi-asi- — it waved not a Made; 

How was that •■jntlc sounc. eonvev'd ? 

He look'd to tlie iVv.-.r''rf- each lh"m- lay siili, 

So dill the lea\es on I'itn.vron's hill. 

And he I'ell not a hreatii eome over iiis ehei'k ; 

AN'hat did tli;it sudden sonud hesjieak ? 

He turu'd to the left — is he sure of sight ? 

'J'here sate a lady, youthful and bright ! 

XX. 

He stai'ted uji with more ot' fear 

Than if an armed foe were near. 

" (!od of my faliiers ! what is here ? 

A\'ho art thou, aud wherefore sent 

So near a hoslih' armament : " 

His trembling iiands refused to sign 

The cross hi' dccm'd no more divine: 

He had rcsnmcil it in lh:itTionr, 

l$ut conscience wrung nway the powei'. 

He gazed — he saw : lie knew the lace 

Of lieauty, and the form of grace ; 

It was l'"i'ancesea i>v his side. 

The maid wlio mig^il have lieen his hi'idc ! 

The rose was yet \i))on her cheek, 

IJut metlowM with a tenderer sireak : 

^\■here was the play of her soft lips lied ? 

Cione was the smile that enliven'il their red. 

The ocean's calm within their view, 

Beside her eye had less of blue ; 

Bnt like that' cold wave it stood still. 

And its glance, ihough clear, was chill. 

Around hci' I'onn .-i thin robe twining, ' 

Nought ctmceal'd her bosom shining; 

Through the parting of lii-r hair, 

Floating darkly downward tlu'i'c, 

Her rounded arm show'd white and bare: 

And ere yet she made reply. 

Once she raised her haml on high; 

It was so wan and lr;nispareut of hue, 

You might have seen the moon ^hine through. 

XXI. 

"I eome fronj my rest to him 1 love host. 

That I may be hajipy, aud he may be blest. 

1 have pass'd the guards, the gate, the wall; 

Sought lliee in sat'clv through foes and all. 

'Tis said the lion will turn and llee 

From a nriid iu the pride of her pnrilv ; 

jVnd the Power on high, that can shield thf good 

Thus tViMn the tvraut of the wood. 

Hath exiended its uicnv to guard me as well 

Fioni the hands of the leaiiiieriny; inlidel. 



THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 139 

I come — and if I conic in vain, 
Never, oh never, we meet again! 
TIkju liasl, (lone a I'earl'ul deed 
In Tailing away IVoni tliy i'allier.s' creed: 
\\\\i ilasli lliat iurliaii to earlli, and .sign 
The sign ol' tiie cross, and Toi" ever i)e mine; 
Wring llic l)Iaci< (irop from tli}' heart, 
And to-morrow unites us no more to part." 

"And where sliould our bridal-coucii lie spicad ? 

In tiie midst of tlie dying and the dead ? 

For to-moiTow we give to the slaughter and flamo 

The sons and tlie slii-ines of the C'hrislian name. 

None, save thou ;iiid thine, I've sworn, 

[Shall he left upon the morn: 

Hut thee will I JK'ai' to a lovely spot. 

Where our hands shall he joiii'd, and our sorrow forgot. 

There tluju yet shall he my bride. 

When once again I'vi' (piell'd the pride 

Of Veni(.'e : and her hated race 

Have felt t,lie arm they would debase 

.Scourge, with a whip of scorpions, those 

Whom vice and envy made my foes." 

Upon liis li.'ind she laid her own — 

Light was the touch, but it thrill'd to the bono, 

And shot a chillncss to his heart. 

Which (i\'d him Ixtyond the pow('r to start. 

Though slight was that grasp so mortal cold, 

He cH)tdd not loose him from its hold : 

But never did (dasp of one so dear 

(Strike on the jiulsc with such feeling of fear, 

As those thin lin^icrs, long and white. 

Froze through his blood by their touch that night. 

The I'everish glow of his brow was gone. 

And his heart sank so still that it i'elt like stone, 

As he look'd on the face, and i)cheld its hue, 

So deeijly changed from wliat he knew : 

Fair but faint — without the ray 

Of mind, that made each feature play 

Like sparkling waves on a sunn}' day; 

And her motionless lips lay still as death. 

And her words came ibrth without her breath, 

And there rose not a heave o'er ht^r bosom's swell, 

And there seem'd not a pulse in her veins to dw(dl. 

I'liou^^h her eye shone out, yet tiie lids were lix'd. 

And the glance that it gave was wild and unmix'd 

With aught of cliangi^, as the eyes may seem 

Of tlie restless who walk in a trouliled dream ; 

Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare. 



Stirr'd by t.ie breath of the wintry air, 

en by the di ' 
Lifeless, but life-like, and awi"ul to sight; 



So seen by the dying lamp's fitful liglit. 



As they seem, througii the dimness, about to come down 
From the shadowy wall where their images frown; 



].|0 TUK sn:nE or couixth. 

I'l'iirrullv llilliiij;- to ;iH(l iVo, 

A> till' y'usis on tlu' iMiH'slry coiuo luul go. 

" If not i'or tlio lovo of iiu- l>o j;ivoii 

Tlm-i niui'li, tln'ii, tor llic love ol' Jlwivon, — '» 

Afiiiiii 1 s;iy -tluit turl);ui Wav 

From olV lliy luillilcss hi'ow, iiiul swoar 

Tliiiio iiijuri'il comitry's sons to spare, 

Or lliou art lost ; and" n('\ or shall sou — 

Not oartli -that's past — but hi'iiveii or nie. 

ir this thou tlost accord, albeit 

A lu'a\ v doom 'lis liiiuc to moot, 

'i'hal doom shall half absolve Ihv sin, 

,\ud merry's ^ale may reeeivi' tliee within: 

Hut paiiseOne nuimeni more, and take 

The curse of Jlim thou didst I'orsaUe; 

And look once more to heaven, and sec 

Its love for I'ver shut from thee. 

There is a. li.uhl cloud by the nu)on — * 

' lis passing', and will passjjill soon — 

If, by the lime its vapory sail 

llalli ceased her shade<rorb to veil, 

Thy heart within Ihee is not ('hanji-ed, 

Then (Jod and nuui are both avenjieil; 

Dark «ill thy doom l>e, .larker still 

Thine immortality of ill." 

Alp look'd to heaven, and saw on hifih 

The siji'n she spake of in the sky ; 

]?ut his heart was swoU'n, and turn'd aside, 

]?v deep interminable i)ride. 

Tliis tirst false passion of his breast 

KoU'd like a torreni o'er the resi. 

Ill' sue for merey ! lie dismay 'd 

1i\ wild words of a timid maid! 

iff, wrouii'd by N'enice, vow to save 

Her sons, devoted to the fj:rave ! 

Ko — thonjih that cloud were thunder's worstj 

And char^-ed to crush iiim let it burst 1 

lie look'd upon it earnestly, 

AN'ithoul an accent of reph ; 

lie watch'd it jiassinj;': it is llown: 

Full on his eye the clear moon shone, 

And thus he spake — " Whate'er my fate, 

I am no chanuelinu' — 'lis too late: 

The reed in storms may liow ami ipiiver, 

Then rise ai^ain; the tree must shiver. 

\\'liat W'liice nuule me, 1 must he, 

llcr foe in all, save love to Ihee : 

lUil thou art safe: oh, tly with nic ! " 

* I liav.' lioiMi lol.l tlial llio Kli'U cxiircssoil in llils ami llio live Ibllowinp linos 
iias iHi'M ;ulialn d l>y llioso wlinso approlialina Is valaahli'. I ani hImX <>I' it : liut 
His not orli;ia,il— at' Iriisl not lainc: ll luav In- t'oanil nua-li lu'ltia- I'Xinvssoil in 
j>i\.m-s IS'J-I^I el" tl\>' Knj;llsli viT.-lon u!' •• Vatliok •' (I lofKOt tin' prcolso paijo of 
tlu' Kiiin'li). a wiiiii to wliii'li I liavc ln'ioro n.'11'iTi'il; ami iii'vcr rciaii- to, or 
rcail, wilhoal a ivnrwal of };ralilloaliou. 



THE SIECE OF COniXTH. 141 

lie liirii'il, hut sIk; is pone ! 

Notliiiiji' is tiuM'o but tlic colutun stone. 

lliilli siie suiiii ill tlu; eiirtli, oi' iiit'llcd in air? 

llu saw not — ho know not — hut noliiiny is tiierc. 

XXII. 

'J'hc ni^^'lit is |iMst, iind siiinos the; sun 

As it' liiiit nidi'u were jij'ociimiI onu. 

Liji'lltlv iiiid lii-i;4lillv h|•(^•l,ks llAVliy 

I'hc A/oruiu;;' IVoiii licr luuiillc ^^ray, 

Ami tlic Noon will look on a sultry day. 

llai'k to tliu lruni|), and tlio drum, 
And the mournful sound of tli(; liiirharous horn, 
And Ww. liap of tho hanniM's, tliiit, Hit :i.s Ihcy'rr borne. 
And Ihc iicijih of Iho steed, a,nd llu^ niulliliidr's liiiiu, 
And Ihc clash ;uid the shout, " They come, I hey <'omc /" 
'J'hc horsetails arc pluck'd i'rom the ground, and Ihc swoivl 
From its sln^ath; and they form, and but wait for the word, 
Tartai", and Sjiahi, and 'I'urcoman, 
iStrik(! your tents, .-uid thi-oiiir to the van ; 
Mount yc, spur ye, skirr IIk^ plain, 
'J'haf Ihc fiijiitiv(! may lice in vain. 
When he breaks IVom the town; and none escape, 
Ai,'ed or youii^r in tin; ( 'hristian shape; 
While your I'ellows on foot, in a fiery nniss, 
Bloodstain tlu! I)rca,ch throuj;h whie)i they pass. 
The steeds are all bridh'd, and snort, to thi! rein; 
Curved is each neck, and llowinj;' each mane; 
While is \\n: foam of their champ on the bit : 
'J'lu! spears ai-e uplil'l('<l ; the niatchcs ar(' lit; 
The camion are i)oint(;il, and ready to roar. 
And crush the wall they have crumbled before: 
rorm.s in his phalanv each Janiiiar; 
Alp at 1 h(Mr head ; his riL;lit aian is bare, 
80 is iIk; blaile of his scimitar; 
Th(^ khan and lln^ jtachas are all at, their post: 
Tin; vi/.ici' himself at the head of tlu; host. 
When the <'ulveian's sij^nal is fired, then on; 
Leav(; not in Corinth a livinj,' one — 
A i)ricst at her altars, a chief in her halls, 
A hearlli in her mansions, a stone on her walls. 
Cod and the prophet — Allah llu ! 
Up to the skies with that wild halloo! 

"There the brcraeh lies for passa;;e, the laddei' to scale; 
And your hands on your satires, and how should ye fail ? 
]Ie who first downs with tin; red cross may crave 
]Iis heart's d(;a.i-est wish; li;t him ask it, anil have!" 
'I'lnis utier'd (/'oumour;^i, th<; daiinlless vizi(;r; 
'J'Ik; r{;|)ly was tin; brandish of sabre and sjiear, 
And the shout of fierct; thousands ia joyous ire: — 
(Silence — hark to the si;,'')ial — lire ! 

As the wolves, that hcadlony yo 
Oil the stately Indlahj, 



t42 ''''^/•" >'//-''■/■: or ronixrir. 

TIi(iii;^'h willi litsy eyes, iiiul lui^i'v roar, 

Ami lumfs tliiit stiimp, iiiiil liciriis that ^'uro, 

III" (i'auii)K's (HI I'arlli, or lossos on lii;;ii 

'I'lii- I'oromosi, \vli(i nisli on Ills stroiijilli hut (oilio; 

'I'lms aj^aiiist llu- wall tliry wont, 

'I'liiis till' lirst wfii' iiackwanl l)i'iil ; 

JMaiiy a liosoiii, slicallu'd in brass, 

.Stri'wM llu- cailli liUi- hroUcii -i'lass, 

yiiivci'M l)y tlu> sliol, lliat tore 

Tlio ^roiMiil wluMvoii llioy luovctl no more: 

ICvtMi as (lu-y till, in lili's llicy lay, 

Liki' llu' mower's i;rass at tlu' closo of day, 

^\'lH•u his work is (lone on tlu> U'vcllM plain; 

Sncli was liic tall ol' ihc I'oriMnost slain. 

As tlio sprinii-tidi's, with lica\y splash, 

From till' rlitVs invading- dash 

lIui;o IVau'iucnts, sanp'd hy (ho coascK'ss How, 

Tili white and ihunilerinL;- (town thoy ;;'o, 

Like the a\ alanche's snow 

On the Alpine vales helow ; 

Tims at len;.;th, onthi-eathed and worn, 

Corinth's s(ms weri' downward borne 

JJv the lonu- and ofl-renew'd 

('lnir>i-e of tin- Moslem multitude. 

Ill lirmness thev stood, and in Tuasses thev I'ell, 

lleap'd, bv the'host of the inlldel. 

Hand to liand, and foot to foot: 

Notliinj;- there, sa\o death, was mute; 

(Stroke, and thrust, and llash, and cry 

Vox- (juai'ter, oi' for vietory, 

]\lini:le there with the volleying thunder. 

Which makes the distant cities wonder 

How the soundiuu' battle ;;oes, 

\l' with them, or for their foes; 

If they nmst mourn, or may rejoice 

In that annibilatiuK' voice, 

A\'hieli pierces the deep hills throui^li and through 

M'ith an echo dread and new : 

You miuhl have heard it, on that day, 

O'er Salamis and Mej^ai'a; 

(^^'e have heard the hearers say,) 

Even unto I'invns' bay. 

xw. 

From the noiut of encountcriuu- bhuU-s to the hilt, 

Sabres and swords with blood were j;ilt ; 

lint the ranijiart is won, and the spoil be^un, 

And all but the after cai-uaue done. 

Shriller shrieks now nunulinj:' couio 

From within the plunder'd dome: 

Hark to the haste of llyini;' feet. 

That splash in the bloi>il of the slipjiery street; 

]>ul here ami thei'i-, where vantaL;e-i;rouud 

Against the t'oe mav still be found, 



THE SIECE OF CORIXTII. J 4;} 

Desperate pronp'i, of (wclvo or tiMi, 
M.'ike :i p.-uisc, .■mil liirii ;i;:;uii-- 
W'illi IimihIimI liaclvs ii^iiiiisl llic wall, 
Ficivcly .stiiiid, or ii;;li(iii;f I'lill. 

There stood an oM 111:111 — his hairs were white, 

l$iit his vi'lcraii arm was i'lill of itiiji'lil : 

iSo yallanlly bore Ik; the hniiit dC tliu I'ray, 

The (load hcl'ore Iiiiii, on that day. 

In a sciiiicircic l;i v ; 

Slill ln^ ( oiiilialcd iinwoiindod, 

'J'hoii^^h ri'trraliii;,'-, niisiirroiilidcd. 

Many a scar ol" former (iyjit 

Liirk'd hciiealli his corselet hrij^ht; 

l{iit of i-vi^VY wound his hody hoiv, 

]Cacli and all had hccn ta'cn before: 

Tlioiijih a^i'd, Ik: was so iron of limb, 

]''cw of our yoiilli could cope willi him ; 

And (he foi>i, whom he siii;;|y Ucpt at l)ay, 

()ulJHinil)cr'd his thin hairs of silver {^-ray. 

I'l'oni rijjht to left his sahre swept: 

!Many an Othmaii iriolher wept 

>S«)ns that were niihorn, when dipp'd. 

His weap<ni first in Moslem ^rore, 

Krc his years could <'oiint a score. 

Of all he mi;,''lit have been the siro 

Who fell that day i)cncalh his ire: 

For, soilless left loii;^ years aj^o, 

His wralh made many a childless foe; 

And since the day, wiicn in the strait* 

His only boy had met his f;ili', 

His ])arcnt's iron hand did doom 

More ihaii a human hecaloiiib. 

H" shades by eania^^o be appeased, 

I'atroclu? spirit less was pleased 

Than his, Minotti's son, who died 

Whei'e Asia's hounds and ours divide; 

Uuried he lay, where thousands before 

For thousands of years were inhumed or; the shotc. 

What of lluiii is fefl, to tell 

Where they lie, and how they fell ? 
Not a stone on their turf, nor a, bone in their fjrav'cs; 
But they live in the verse that immortally saves. 

x.wi. 

Hark to the Allah shout! a hand 

Of the Mussulman bravest and best is at hand : 

Their leader's nervous arm is bare. 

Swifter to smite, and never to s])are — 

Unclothed to the shoulder it waves them on; 

Thus ill the li^ilil is he ever known: 

Others a {;au(lier {^arb may show. 

To tempt the sijoil of the greedy foe ; 

• In the navnl ljutll(! at tin' inniilli of tli(! Kiiriliiiiollos, Ijctwcen the Voiictlam 
and tliu Turks. 



144 1'^^^' SIKGE OF CORIXTTL 

IMany a hand 's on a rk-her hilt, 

Hut "nono on a stool nioi-e riulilily ^'ilt; 

INLauy a lol'tiiT tiirlian may wear, — 

Al)! IS but know u bv llio whito arm bare; 

Look thnui.i;h Iho t'liick of tho tinht, 'tis thoro! 

There is not a standard on tliat shore 

So well advaneed the ranks before; 

There is not a banner in INIosh'm war 

AVillhuv the Delis half so far; 

It ylanees like a falliuii' star! 

"Where'er that mi,L;'hty arm is seen, 

The bravest be, or late have been; 

There the eraven eries for quarter 

"N'ainly to the venjieful Tartar; 

Or the hero, silent lyinjf, 

Seorns to yield a uroan in dying'; 

JNlusterinu" his last feeble blow 

'Ciainst the nearest levi-U'd foe, 

Though faint beneath the uiutual wound, 

Grappling on the gory grouiul. 

XXVII. 

Still the old mail stood erect, 
And Alji's eareer a moment choek'd. 
" Yield thee, IMiiiotti ; quarter take, 
For thine own, thy daughter's sake." 

" Never, rencgado, never ! 

Though tlie life of thy gift would last for ever." 

" Franccsca ! — oh, my proniised bride : 
!Must she too perish by thy pride ? " 

" She is safe." — " Where ? where ? " — " In lieaveu; 

From whence thy traitor soul is tlriveu — 

Far from thee, and undefilod." 

(.irimly then jNUnotti smiled. 

As he saw Alp staggering bow 

Before his words, as with a blow. 

" O God ! when died she ? " — "Yesternight — 

Nor weep I for her spirit's flight: 

None of my pure race shall be 

Slaves to Moliamnied and thee — 

Come on ! " — Tiiat ehallenge is in vaiu — 

Alp's already with the slain! 

"Wliile ^linoiti's words were wreaking- 

!Moro revenge in bitter speaking 

Than his falchion's point had found, 

Had the time allow'tl to wound, 

From within the neighboring porch 

Of a long-defended church, 

AVhere the last and desperate few 

M'ould the failing tight renew. 

The sharp shot ilasli'd Al|) to the ground; 

Ere au eve could view the wound 



THE SIEGE OF CORIXTn. 145 

That crashM throuf;h the l)rain of the iiifulel, 

Hound he spun, anil (k)\vn he Icll ; 

A Hash like th'e witlnu his eyes 

lilazcil, as lie hent no more to rise, 

And then eternal dai'kness sunk 

Throu.L;li all llio palpitatinir trunk; 

Nou^-lit of life left, save a quiveriuLf 

Where his linihs were slightly shivering: 

They luru'd him on his baek; his breast 

And hrow were stain'd with j^ore and dust. 

And throu;;h his lips the life-blood oozed, 

From its deep veins lately looscil ; 

But in his pulse tluu'O was no throb, 

Nor on his lips one dyinji; sob; 

8i<;h, nor word, nor strug;iling' In'cath 

Heraldeil his w^ay to death : 

Ere his very thought could jiray, 

Unanel'il he pass'd away. 

Without a lu)i)e from mercy's aid, — 

To the last — a Ilenegade. 

XXVI I r. 

Fearfully the yell arose 

Of his followers and his foes; 

These in joy, in fury those : 

Then again in conHiet mixing, 

Clashing swords, and spears transfixing, 

Interchanged the blow and thrust. 

Hurling warriors in the dust. 

Street by street, and foot by foot, 

Still Minotti dares dispute 

The latest ]K)rtion of the land 

Left beneath his liigh command; 

M'ith him aiding heart and hand, 

The remnant of his gallant liand. 

Still the chui-ch is tenable, 
Whence issued late the fated ball 
That half avenged the city's fall. 

When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell: 
Thither bending sternly back. 
They leave before a bloody track; 
And, with their faces to the foe. 
Dealing wounds with every blow, 
The chief, and his retreating train, 
Join to those within the fane; 
There they yet may breathe awhile, 
Shelter'd by the massy pile. 



Brief breathing-time! the tnrban'd host. 
With added ranks an<l raging boast, 
Press onwiird witb such strength and heat, 
Their mnnbers balk their own retreat ; 
For narrow the way that led to the spot 
Where still the Christians yielded not; 
10 



146 THE SIEGE OF CORlXm. 

And the I'oi-cmost, if fearful, may vainly try 

Tl.roiii;l\ the nuissy eolunin to turu and liv ; 

They pei-foire must do or die. 

They die : hut ere their eyes could close, 

Avengers o'er their bodies rose; 

Fresh and furious, fast they till 

The ranks unthiuuM, though slauu'hter'd still: 

And faint tiie weary Christians wax 

Before the still renew'd attacks : 

And now the Othnuins liaiu the gate ; 

Still resists its iron weiglit, 

And still, all deadly aiui'd and hot, 

From every ereviee comes the shot; 

From every shatter'il witulow pour 

The volleys of tlu' suliihurous shower: 

But the ]i"ortal wavering grows autl weak — 

The iron yields, the hinges I'reak — 

It bends— and falls— and all is o'er; 

Lost Corinth mav resist no more ! 



Dark, sternly, and all alone, 

Minotti stood o'er the altar-stone : 

Ikladouna's face ujion him shone, 

Painted in heavenly hues above. 

With eyes of light and looks of love; 

And placed upon that holv shrine 

To fix our tlioughts on thuigs divine, 

AViicn pictured there we kneeling see 

Ilcr, auil the boy-(iod on her knee, 

Smiling sweetly on each prayer 

To heaven, as if to waft it there. 

Still she smiled ; even now she smiles. 

Though slaughter sti-eams along her aisles. 

INlinotti lifted his aged eye, 

And made the sign of a cross with a sigh, 

Then seized a torc'h which bla/.ed therein-; 

And still he stood, while, with steel and "ihime, 

Inward and onward the JNlussulman came. 



The vaults beneath the mosaic stoue 

Contain'tl the ilead of ages gone; 

Their names were on the graven floor, 

But now illegible with gore; 

The carved crests, and curious hues 

The varied marble's veins ditVuse, 

"Were smear'd, and slippery — stain'd, and strowa 

AVith broken swords, and iielms o'erthrown : 

There were dead above, and the ilead below 

l>ay cold in many a cotHn'd row ; 

You might see them piled in sable state, 

V>y a pale light through a gloomy grate: 

But ^Var had enter'd their tlark caves. 

And stored along the vault etl graves 



THE SIEGE OF COliJXTIl. [ [■ 

Ilcr sul|)liiu'on.s trpasures, thickly spread 
111 iiiiissps l>y tli(! llcslilcss dead : 

Here, tlii'oiit^lioiit the sie;;e, had I)eoii 

'J'he ( 'hrisliaiis' chiefest iiia;,''aziiu' ; 
To these a hit(^-loriii'd train now led, 
Miiiotti'.s last and stern resouree, 
Against the foe's o'erwhclniing force. 



The foe came on, and few remain 

To strive, and tliose ninst strive in vain : 

For lack of further lives, to slake 

The thirst of vi'ngeauee now awake, 

With l)arliiirous hh)\vs they gasii the dead, 

And h)|) the already lifeless head. 

And fell the statues from their niehe. 

And s))oil the shrines of oll'erings rich, 

And from each other's riidc! hands wrest 

The silver vessels saints had hless'd. 

To the high altar on they go; 

Oh, hnt it made a ;;lorio"iis show! 

On its tahle still hchol.l 

The eu)) of eonst'crated gold ; 

]\Iassy and deep, a glittering prize, 

IJrightly it sparkles to plniKlcn-ers' eyes: 

U'hat morn it lu'ld the holy wine. 

Converted liy Christ to His hlood so divine, 

Which His worshippers drank at the hrcakof day 

1"o shrive their souls ere they join'd in the fray, 

Still a lew drops within it lay; 

And round the sacred tahle glow 

Twelve lofty lamps, in splendid row. 

From the purest metal cast; 

A spoil — the richest, and the la.-it. 



So near they came, the nearest stretch'd 
To grasp the spoil he almost reach'il, 

When old Minotti's hand 
Touch'd with a torch the train — 

'Tis fired ! 
Spire, vaidts, and shrine, the spoil, the slain. 

The turlian'd victors, the t'hristian hand. 
All that of living or dead riMuain, 
llurl'd on l]i;^h with the shiver'd fane. 

Hi one wild roar exiiired ! 
The shatter'd town — the walls tiirown down — 
The waves a moment hackward heiit — 
The hills that shake, altliou>;h unrent. 

As il" an eartii(|uake pass'd — 
The thousand shapeless tilings all driven 
In cloud and Ihime athwart the heaven, 

J{y that tremendous hlast — 
Prochiini'd the despmate conllict o'er 
On that too long afflicted shore ! 



148 THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. 

Up to the sl<y like rockets go 

All that iniiigled there below : 

Many a tall and goodly man, 

Seorch'd and shriveU'd to a span, 

"When he fell to earth again 

Like a eindcr strew'd the plain : 

Down the ashes shower like rain; 

Some fell in the gulf, which received the sprinkles 

With a thousand circling wrinkles; 

Some fell on the shore, liut, far away, 

Scatter'd o'er the isthmus lay ; 

Cliristian or Moslem, which lie they ? 

Let their mothers see and say ! 

When in eradle(l rest they lay, 

And each nursing mother smiled 

On the sweet sleep of her chilil. 

Little decm'd she such a day 

Would rend those tender liiiibs away. 

Not the matrons that them bore 

Coulil discern their otispring-more : 

That one moment left no trace 

iMore of human form or face 

Save a scatter'd scalp or bone : 

And down came bhizing rafters, sLrown 

Around, and many a falling stone, 

Deeply dinted in the clay, 

All l)lackcn'd there and reeking lay. 

All the living things that heard 

That deadly earth-shock disappear'il : 

The wild Im-ds tiew; the wiUl dogs lied, 

And howling left Ihe uuluiried dead; 

The camels from their keepers broke ; 

The distant steer forsook the yoke — 

The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain. 

Anil burst his girth, and tore his rein ; 

The buU-lVou's note, from out the marsh, 

Deep-moulh'il arose, and douldy harsh; 

The wolves yell'd on the caveru'd hill 

Where echo'roU'd in thunder still ; 

The jackal's trooji, in gather'd cry,* 

IJay'd from afar c()m|)lainingly, 

^\'ith a mi\'d and nu)uruful sound. 

Like crying halie, and l)eaten hound; 

With sadden wing, and rutHeil breast, 

Tlie eagle left his rocky nest. 
And mounteil nearer to the sun. 
The clouds beneath him secm'd so dun 

Their smoke assail'd his startled beak. 

And made him hiuher soar and shriek — 
Thus was Corinth lost antl won ! 

* I believe I have taken a poetical license to transplant the jacknl from Asia. 
In (Jreece I never saw nor heard these animals ; l)iil aniciML; the ruins ofEphesus 
I have heard them bv hundreds. They haunt niins, and I'oUow armies. 



PARISINA. 



TO 

SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ., 

THK FOLLOWING POEM IS INSCRIBED, 

Br ONE WHO HAS LONG ADMIRED HIS TALENTS AND VALUED 

HIS FRIENDSHIP. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The fnllowinjr poom is gromirtptl on a circumstance mentioned in Oilibon's 
" Anti(|iiitifs (!t" the House of Unniswicli." I am aware that in modern times 
tlie delicacy or fastidiousness of tlio reader may deem sucli sutijects unfit for the 
pur])oscs of poetry. Tlio (Jreok dramatists, and some of tlie best of our old Eng- 
lisli writers, were of adiflcrent opinion : as Altieri and Scliiller liave also been, 
more recently, upon the Continent. The following extract will explain the facts 
on which the story is founded. The name of Azo is substituted for Nicholas, 
as more metrical : — 

" Under the reign of Nicholas III., Fcrrar was polluted with a domestic tra- 
gedy. By the testimony of an attendant, and his own ol)servation, the Maniuis 
of Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Tarisina, and Hugo his bas- 
tard son, a beautifiil and valiant youth. Thev were beheaded in tlie castle by 
the sentence of a father and husband, who puolished his shame, and survived 
their excculion. He was unfortunate, if they were guilty; if they were ini;o- 
cent, he was still more unfortunate; nor is there any possible situation in which 
I can sincerely ajiprove flic last act of the justice of a parent." — Gibbon's Mis- 
cellaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 47U. 

149 



PARISINA.* 



It is till' hdiir wlicii IVoin Iho l)oiis;'hs 
Tlu' iiiulitiiiuMlo's liii;'h luito is lu-anl; 

It is till' lumr wiioii lovers' vows 
ISeiMu swi'i't in every whisperM word; 

Ami <;oiitlc wiiuls, uiul \V!ito»»-uoar, 

^l;ike niiisic to tlio loni'lv osir. 

i::icli llower tlu' .lews liiivo lii;litly wet, 

And in llie >ky iho slurs ;ire niel, 

• Tho fai'ts (111 which the i)rosoiil pooni was gnmiuUHl are thus given InFrizzI's 
Hlstdi'v ot Ki'iiaia : 

'■ Tliis tiinu'il oiii a calauiltoiis year for tho ihv)|i1o ot I'Vnara; for tlioro 
iH'ciiiTi'il a very ira^icaU'vciit hi the court of Ihrir'sovci'i'iuu. Oiir annals, hoth 
lirhitnl and in'iiiaiiuscriiu, with Iho cxcoplioii of tlio inipohshcd and iicuMKont 
worU of Sardi, and one oilier, liavo f;ivoii Iho lollowiiii; ivlalioii of il, — tVoiii 
wliioh, luoMvcr, aro ri'Joolod many ilotails, and osjiooially llio narrativo of llan- 
dolh, who wrote a eenliny afterwards, and who does not accord with Iho con- 
teniiuirarv liisiorians. 

'• By thi' aliove-iiientloiied StoUa dell' Assassino, the Maniiiis, in tlio year 140.% 
had a .son called I'uo, a hoaiitilUl ami iii;;oiiiioiis yoiiih. I'ai'isiiia Malatostrt, 
second wile of Niccolo. like llio .generality of >ioii-iuutlu'is, Ircaled him with 
little Kimlness, lo the inlliiile rcyrel of the Nlari|iils, w ho rej;ai-de<l him willi fond 
|)ariiality. t)ne day she asked leave of her Inishaiul lo undertake a ccrlain 
joiiniey.' to wliich he conseiiled, lint upon coiidilion thai I'.^o siioiild hear her 
conipaiiy ; for he hoped hy Ihese means lo induce licr, in the end, lo lay aside tlio 
olisliiial'e aversion wliichslie had conceived aiiainst him. -Vnd indeed his iiilent 
was accomphsl'.cd hiil loo well, since, diirlm: the ionniey, she not only illvcslcd 
hersi'lt' of all her halrcil, hut fell iiilo the opposite exU'emc. .Viler their return, 
the Mari|iiis had no loiiKor any oeeasion to reiU'W his toniicr reproofs. It Inii)- 
peiied one day that a servant of the Mai'ipiis, naineil /oese, or, as some call him, 
(iiof^io. passing; licfore Iho a|iarinu'nls of I'arisina, saw jjoini,' out iVom them one 
of he.-ehanilieriuaids, all terrillcd and in tears. .Vskiii^ the reason, she told lilm 
thai her mistress, for some slijihl olVciiee, hail heen liealini; her; and Kivinij vent 
to her raue, she ailded, that she could easily lie reven;;ed. if she chose to mako 
known the criminal liimiliarilv which siihsisted lielween I'arisiiia and her step- 
tioii. The servant took note of the words, and related them to his master. lie 
was astounded thereat, luiI scarcely helicviiii; his ears, he assured himself of Iho 
fact— alas : too clearly— on the l.stl'i of May, hy lookiiii; llironi;h a hole made In 
the ccllhii; of his wife's ehanilicr. Instaiitlv he hroke iiilo a fiirions rai;o, and 
arrested holli of them, toiicllu'r with .Md'hrandino Kangoni, of .Modeiia, her 
jienlli'inaii, and also, as some sav, two of the women of herchamher, as ahcttors 
ol tills sinful acl. lie ordered tliein lo Ik' hronuht lo a hasty trial, desiriny the 
jiuliics lo prononnce seiilence, in the .■leeiistomed lornis, upon the culprits. This 
seiitenee was death. .Some tliei-o were that hestirred Ihemselves in t'avor of the 
deliiuinenls, and amonusl others, I'yoccion Coinrario, who was all-powort"lll 
with Niccolo, and also his a,Lred ami miieh deserviiij,r minisler, Alherto dal Sale. 
lioth of lliesi'. their tears llowiny down Iheir cheeks, and upon their knees, im- 
plored him lor iiiercv; adduclni.' whalever reasons they could siij;L:est for sparing 
the olU-'iiilcrs, hesides those motives of honor and decencv whirh mmlu persuade 

i:.o 



PARISIXA. 151 

Ami on the wave is deeper l)liic, 

And on the k'iif a hrowner hue, 

And in the hciivcn that ch'ar ohscurc, 

Sosiiflly dark, and darkly pui-e, 

A\'hieh t'ollows the decline of day, 

As twilight meUs beneath the moon away. 

II. 

But it is not to list to the waterfall 

That Parisina leaves her hall. 

And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light 

That the lady walks in the shadow of nigiit; 

And if she sits in Ivste's bower, 

*Tis not for tiic sake of its full-blown flower — 

She listens — but not for the nightingtile — 

Though her ear expeets as soft a tale. 

There glitlcs a step through the foliage thick. 

And her eheek grows pale — and her heart bcuits quick ; 

There wiiispers a voice tlirongli the rustling leaves, 

Ami her l)lush returns, and her l)osoni heaves ! 

A moment more — and they shall meet — 

'Tis past — her lover 's at her feet, 

him to conceal from tlio jjiililic so scandalous a deed, liiit his rnRC mado him 
iiilloxililc, and, on thu instant, liu cuunuui)Uud tliut the scutunuu sliuiild be put in 

C.XCl-lltiou. 

" It was, tlien, in the prisons of tlio castlo, and exactly in tliosc frifjlitful (Uui- 
gcons wliich are seen at tills dav liencadi tlie chamhcr called tlie Aurora, at tlie 
footoftlie Lion's tower, at tlie 'top ol' tlic street (;iove(ea. tliat on tli(^ uiKiit ot 
tlio -ilst of May were helu'aded, llrsi, Ij'kii, ami afterwards I'arisina. Zoese, lie 
tliat accused her, conducted llu> latter under his arm to the place of punishment. 
Slie, all alonu', fancleil that she was to he tin-own into a pit. and asUed at e\er\ 
step, whether she was yet conn! to the spot'/ Sl»> was told that her punishment 
was the axe. Slic iiupiired what had heeome of I'ko, and recelv<'d for answer 
that he was already dead; at tla^ whieh, sl;,'lilnj; grievously, .•^he exelanned, 
'Now, then, I wish not myself to live; ' and hein^' come to the liloeU, she stripped 
lierscif with her own hands (jf all her ornaini'uts, and wrappin;,' a elotli round 
her head, suhmitted to the fatal stroke, whieh terminated the criii'l scene. Tlie 
same was done with ItaiiKoni, who, toj;elher \vith the others, aeeordln to two 
calendars in the lihrary of .St. Francesco, was liinled in llie cemetery of that 
couvoiit. Nothing else is known respecting tlie women. 

"The Maniuis kept wateli the whole of that driadful nislit, and, as lie was 
walkiuj; backwards and forwards, iiapiired of the captain of the castle if Ugo 
was dead yet? wlio answered him yes. lie then txn\-i\ himself up to the most 
desperate lamentations, c.\elaiiiiin^, ' Oh, that I too w.as dead, .since I liavi> been 
hurried Mu to resiilvc thus a;,'ainNl my own Ujfo!' And then t-'oawint; with his 
teeth a cane which lie had in his hand, he passed tlie rest of the niu'ht in si;;lis 
and in tears, calling fretpiently upon Ills own dear Uko. On the fcillowlii),' day, 
calliuK to mind that it would be necessary to make public ills Justificatiou, seeing 
that tlie transaction could not be kept secret, ho ordered the narrative to be 
drawn out upon jiaper, and sent It to all tln^ courts of Italy. 

" (Jii reeei\ iiiK this advice, tlio Doge of V'euiei', l''raii<'<'sc'(> Foscari,gavo orders, 
but without luilillshinf; his reasons, that stop should be put to the preparations 
for n touruamcnt, wliich, under the auspices of tlie iMarqnis, and at the expense 
of the eitv of Tadua, was about Id take place, iu tlie scpiare of St. .Mark, in order 
to eclehrate his advaneeuieiit to thr diieal chair. 

'■The .Mar(piis, in addition towhat he had already <loiie, from some unaecouut- 
nble liiirst of veimeance, commanded that as mails of the ni.iirii'd woinenas were 
w<'ll known to him to be faithless, liki' his I'arisina', should, liki' her, be beheaded. 
Amoii'.'st others, llarberiua, or, as snnu' call her, l,aodauiia lioiiici, wife of tlio 
court Judiic, underwent tl^s senlenee, at the usual place ol execution ; that is to 
say. in the ipuirter of St. (liacoma, opposing the present fortress, beyond St. 
raid's. It cannot be told howslraiiKc app<'ared this proceeding in a prince, who, 
ronslderiui; his own disposition, should, as it seemed, have Ijeen in such cases 
uinsi indulgent. Some, however, there wore who did not fail to commend liiia." 



152 PARISIXA. 

III. 

And what unto tlicm is the -n-oi-ld beside, 
With all its chanj>c of time and tide ? 
Its livinu' things— its earth and sky — 
Arc nothing to their mind and eye. 
And heedless as the dead are they 

Of aught around, ahovc, beneath ; 
As if all else had pass'd away, 

They only for each other fireathe ; 
Their Very "sighs arc full of joy 

So deep, that did it not decay. 
That happy nuulnoss would destroy 

The hearts which feel its fiery sway : 
Of guilt, of peril, do they deem 
In that tumultuous tender dream ? 
Who that have felt that passion's power, 
Or paused, or fcar'd, in such an hour ? 
Or thought how brief such moments last ? 
But yet — they are alrcaily p;ist,! 
Alas ! we nuist awake before 
W'e know such vision comes no more. 



With many a lingering look they leave 

The spot of guilty gladness past; 
And though they hope, and vow, they grieve, 

As if that parting were the last, 
The frequent sigh — the long embrace — 

The lip that there would cling forever, 
While gleams on Parisina's face 

The Heaven she fears will not forgive her. 
As if each calmly conscious star 
Beheld her frailty from afar — 
The frequent sigh, the long eiubrncc, 
Yet binds them to their trysting-placc, 
But it must come, and they must part 
In fcarfid heaviness of heart, 
With all the deep and shuddering chUl 
Which follows fast the deeds of ill. 

V. 

And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed, 

To covet there another's bride ; 
But she must lay her conscious head 

A husband's trusting heart beside. 
But fcvcr'd in her slccji she seems. 
And red her cheek with troubled dreams, 

And mutters she in her unrest 
A name she dare not breathe by day, 

And clasps her lord unto the breast 
Which pants for one away : 
And he to that embrace awakes, - 
And, happy in the thought, mistakes 
That dreaming sigh, anil warm caress, 
For such as he was wont to bless ; 



PARISiyA. 153 

And could in vciy fondness weep 
O'er her who loves him even in sleep. 

VI. 

lie claspM her slecpinur to liis heart, 

Anil listcuM to each broken word : 
He hears — Why doth Prince Azo start, 

As it' tlie Archangel's voice he heard ? 
And well he may — a deeper doom 
Could scarcely thunder o'er liis tomb, 
When he sliaJl wake to sleep no nuirc, * 
And stand the eternal throne lieforc. 
And well lie mav — his eartldy peace 
Upon that sound is doom'd to cease. 
That sleepinji" whisiicr of a name 
Bespeaks her g-uilt and Azo's shame. 
And whose that name ? that o'er liis pillow 
Sounds fearful as tiic breakiiiji' billow, 
Which rolls the plank upon tlie siiore, 

And dashes on the pointed rock 
The wrclcli wlio sinks to rise no more — 

So came upon his soul the shock. 
And whose that name ? — -'tis IIul;o's — his — 
In sooth he had not dcem'il of this ! — 
'Tis Ilu;;o's — he, the child of one 
He loved — his own all-evil son — 
The ott'spriuL;' of his wa3'ward youth, 
When he l)etray'(l Rianca's tnith. 
The maid whose folly could confide 
In him who made her not his bride. 

VII. 

He pluck'd his poniard in its sheath, 

But sheathed it ere the point was bare — 
Howe'er unwortliy now to breathe. 
He could not slay a thing' so fair — 
At least, not sniilinfr — slecpiniT — there — 
Nay more : — he did not wake her then, 
But o-azcd upon her with a <rlancc, 
Which, had she roused her from her trance, 
Had frozen her sense to sleep a^-ain — 
And o'er his i)row the burnintf lamji 
Glcam'd on the dcwdrops bij,*- and (lamp, 
She spake no more — but still she slunibcr'd — 
While, in his thought, her days are number'd. 

VIII. 

And with the morn he aoupht, and fouud. 

In many a tale from those around. 

The jiroof of all lie fear'd to know, 

Tlieir present guilt, his future woe ; 

The long-conniving damsels seek 

To save themselves, and would transfer 
The guilt — the shame — the doom — to her: 

Concealment is no more — they speak 



154 PARI SIX A. 

All cirpumstancc which mnv compel 
Full credence to the tale they tell: 
And Azo's tortured hciirt and car 
Have nothing' more to fuel or fear. 

IX. 

He was not one who hrook'd dclaj' : 

Within the chanihcr of his state, 
The chief of Este's ancient sway 

1,'poii his throne of judiiincnt sate; 
His nohles and his <;uards are there, — 
Before him is the sinful pair; 
Both younji" — and o?ie how passing fair! 
Withswordless helt, aud fcttcr'd hand, 
O Christ ! that thus a son should stand 

Before a lather's face ! 
Yet thus must lingo meet his sire, 
And hear the sentence of his ire. 

The talc of his disjjrace ! 
And yet he seems not ovcrcmlie, 
Although, as yet, his voice be dumb. 

X. 

And still, and pale, and silently 

Did I'arisina wait her doom; 
How changed since last her speaking eye 

(ilanccci gladness round the glittei'ing room, 
Where high-liDrn men witc proud tc wait — 
Where ticauty wateli'd to imitate 

Her gentle voice — her lovely nuen — 
And gather from her air and gait 

The graces of its queen : 
Then — had her ej'c in sorrow wept, 
A thousand warriors forth had leapt, 
A thousand swonls had sheathless shone, 
Aud made her (luarrel all their own. 
Now — what is she ? and what arc they ? 
Can she command, or these obey ? 
All silent and unheciling now. 
With downcast eyes and knitting brow, 
And folded arms, and freezing air, 
And lips that scarce their scorn forbear, 
Her knights and dames, her court — is thtKJ^ 
Anil he, tlie chosen one, whose lance 
Had yet been couch'd before her glance^ 
Who — were his arm a nuimcnt free — 
Had died or gain'd her liberty ; 
The minion of his fatlur's liride — 
He, too, is fettcr'd by her side : 
Nor sees her swoln and full eye swim 
Less for her own despair than him : 
Those lids — o'er which the violet vein 
Wandering, leaves a tender stain. 
Shining through the smoothest white 
That e'er did softest kiss invite — 



PARISINA. 

Now scem'd with hot and livid plow 
To i)rcss, not shade, tlic orbs ))clow ; 
"W'hicli glance so heavily, and fill, 
As tear on tear grows gatlicrinj,-- still. 

XI, 

And he for her had also wept, 

But for the eyes that on hiin gazed : 
His sorrow, if he felt it, slept; 

Stern and erect his lirow was raised. 
AMiate'cr the grief his soid avow'd, 
lie would not shrink licforc the crowd; 
Bnt yet lie dared not look on her : 
Remembrance of the hours that were — 
His guilt— his love— his present state — 
His father's wrath — all good men's hate — 
His earthly, his eternal fate- 
And hers— oh, hers ! he dared not throw 
One look npon that deathlike brow ! 
Else had liis rising heart betray'd 
licmorse for all the wreck it made. 

XII. 

And Azo spake :— " But j-esterday 

I gloried in a wife and son; 
That dream this morning pass'd away: 

Ere day declines, I shall have none. 
My life must linger on alone ; 
Well— let that pass— there breathes not one 
Who would not do as 1 have done : 
Those ties are broken— not by me ; 

Let that too pass ;— the doom 's prepared! 
Hugo, the priest awaits on thee. 

And then — thy crime's reward ! 
Away ! address "thy prayers to Heaven, 

Before its evening stars are met — 
Learn if thou there canst be forgiven ; 

Its mcrcj' may absolve thee yet. 
But here, npon "the earth beneath, 

There is no spot where thou and I 
Togetiier, for an hour, could breathe : 

Farewell ! I will not see thee die- 
But thou, frail thing! shalt view his head- 
Away ! I cannot speak the rest : 

Go ! woman of the wanton breast ; 
Not I, but thou, his blood dost shed : 
Go ! if tliat sight thou canst outlive, 
And joy thee in the life I give." 

XIII. 

And here stern Azo hid his face — 
For on his l)row the swelling vein 
Throl>b'd as if back upon his brain 
The hot blood ebb'd and flow'd again ; 
And therefore bow'd he for a space, 
And pass'd his shaking hand along 
His eye, to veil it from the tki-ong; 



155 



15G PAUISIXA. 

WliiK" \\\\<xo raisoil liis chniiiod liaiuls, 
Ami for :i l)rii'l' (li'hiy deiiiaiuls 
]Iis father's car: llu' sik'iit sire 
Forbids luit what his words rciiuiro. 

"It is not that 1 dread the death— 
For thou liast seen nie bv tliv side 
All redly throii-li the ha'ttle Vide, 
And that not oneo a useless brand 
Thy slaves have wresteil from my hand, 
llath shed nu)re !)lood in cause of thino 
Than e'er can stain the axe of mine; 

Thou fj:av'st, and may'st rcsinuo my breath, 
A ^ift ft)r which I thank thee not ; 
Nor are my molher's wronu's forgot, 
Her slijihtcd love and ruiu'd name, 
IK'r ortsjirinji's heritage of shame; 
liut she is in the uravc, where he, 
Her son, tliy rival, soon shall be. 
Her broken heart — my sever'dticad — 
iShall witness lor thee from the dcail 
How trusty and how tender were 
Thy youlhfid love — jiatcrual care. 
'Tis true that 1 liave d(Uie thee wronj; — 

But wronii' for wronj;' : — this ilcem'd thy bride. 

The otlu'r victim of thy pride, 
Thou know'st for me was destined lonir. 
Thou saw'sl, and eovetedst her charms — 

And with thy very crime — my birth, 

Thou tauntetlst nie — as little worth! 
A match i>inoble for her arms, 
Because, forsooth, I could not claim 
The lawful heirshiji of thy name, 
Hov sit on ICste's lineal throne: 

Yet were a few short snmnun-s mine, 

INly name sluudd more than Estc's shine 
With honors all my own. 
I had a sword — anil have a breast 
That shouKl have won as hauglit a crest * 
As ever waved alonu' the line 
Of all these sovereii^n sires of thine. 
Isot alwavs kninhllv spurs are worn 
The brightest liy llie better born; 
And mine have lanced my courser's Hank 
Before ])i'oml chiefs of princely rank, 
When charginu- to the cheering cry 
Of ' Ivste and of Victory ! ' 
1 will not plead the cause of crime, 
Kor sue thee to redeem from time 
A few brief hours or days that nmst 
At length roll o'er my reckless dust; — 
Such maddening moments as liiy past. 
They eonld not, and they did not, last. 

• •' Ii;iuf,'lit," haughty—'' Away, haught man, thou art insulting mo." — Shak- 

grKAUlt. 



PARISINA. 157 

Albeit my birth ami name l)e base, 
Ami tliy mihility of race 
L)is(laiii'(l to deck a thinj;^ like me — 

Yet in my lineaments they trace 

Some i'eatures of my father's face, 
And in my spirit — all of thee. 
From tlicc — this tamelcssness of heart — 
From tlice— nay, wherefore dost thou start ?^ 
From thee in all their vitjor came 
My arm of strength, my soid of flame — 
Thou diilst not yive me life alone. 
But all tlial made me more thine own. 
See what thy <ruilty love iiath doncl 
Repaid thee with too like a son ! 
I am no liastard in my soid, 
For that, like thine, abliorr'd control: 
And for my breath, tliat hasty boon 
Thou j^av'st and wilt resume so soon, 
I value it no more than thou, 
AViien rose tliy ('ustiue al)ove thy brow, 
And we, all side by side, have striven. 
And o'er the dead our coursers driven: 
The past is nothing — and iit last 
The future can but be the past; 
Yet would I that I then had (bed ; 

Yw thouiili thou work'dst my mother's ill, 
And made thy own my di'sliiietl bride, 

I feel tiiou art my lather still ; 
And, harsh as sounds thy liard decree, 
'Tis not unjust, althougli IVoni thee. 
Be^jot in sin, to die in shame, 
ISIy life be;;iin and ends tiie same : 
As err'd the sire, so err'd tiie son. 
And tliou must punish i>oth in one. 
My crime seems worst to human view, 
Bui God must judge between us too ! " 

XIV. 

He ceased — and stood with folded arms. 
On wliieh the circlin<r fetters sounded; 
And not an ear but felt as wounded. 
Of all the chiefs that there were i-ank'd, 
When those dull chains in meeting clank'd : 

Till Parisina's fatal charms 

Again attracted every eye — 

Would she thus hear him doom'd to die ! 

She stood, I said, all pale and still. 

The living cause of Hugo's ill ! 

Her eyes unmoved, but full and w'ide. 

Not once had tin-n'd to either side — 

Nor once did those sweet eyelids close. 

Or shade the glance o'er which they i-ose. 

But round their orI)s of deepest blue 

The circling white dilated grew — 

And there with glassy gaze slie stood 

As ice were in her curdled l)lood ; 



158 PARISIXA. 

But every now and then a tear 
So lar^'o anil slowly ;^iithcr'd slid 
From the long' dark lVini;e of that fair lid, 
It was a thing' to see, not hcai'! 
And those who saw, it did sinprise, 
Such drops could fall from luiman eyes. 
To speak she thought — the imperfect note 
Was choked within her swelling throat, 
Yet scem'd in that low, hollow groan 
Her whole heart gushing in the tone. 
It ceased — again she thought to speak, 
Then burst her voice in one long shriek, 
And to the earth she fell like stone 
Or statue from its base o'erthrown, 
More like a thing that ne'er had life — 
A monument of Azo's wife — 
Than her, that living, guilty thing. 
Whose every passion was a sting, 
Which urged to guilt, but could not bear 
That guilt's detection and 4e<pair. 
But yet she lived — and all too soon 
Eecover'd from that death-like swoon — 
But scarce to reason — every sense 
Had been o'erstrung liy pangs intense; 
And each frail fibre of her in-uin 
(As bowstrings, when relax'd by rain, 
The erring' arrow launch aside) 
Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide — 
The past a blank, the future black. 
With glimpses of a dreary track. 
Like lightning on the desert jiath. 
When midnight storms are mustering wrath. 
She fear' d — she felt that something ill 
Lay on her soul, so deep and chill — 
That there was sin and shame she knew; 
That some one was to die — Init who ? 
She had forgotten : — did she breathe r 
Could this be still the earth beneath 
The sky above, and men around ; 
Or were they fiends who now so iVown'd 
On one, before whose eyes each eye 
Till then had smiled in sympathy ? 
All was confused and unilefincd 
To her all-jarr'd and wandering mind; 
A chaos of wild hopes and fears : 
And now in laughter, now in tears, 
But madly still in each extreme, 
She strove with that convulsive dream; 
For so it seem'd on her to break : 
Oh ! vainly must she strive to wake 1 

XY. 

The Convent bells are ringing. 

But mournfully and slow : 
In the gray s(|uare turret swinging, 

With a deep sound, to and fro. 



PARISIXA. 159 

Ilcavily to the heart they go ! 
Hark ! the liyinn is singiug — 

The sonji- tor the dead below, 

Or the livin>,'' who shortly shall be so ! 
For a departing bcing-'s soul 
The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll : 
He is near his mortal goal ; 
Kneeling at the friar's knee ; 
Sad to hear — and piteous to see- 
Kneeling on the bare cold ground, 
With the l>lock before and the guards around — 
And the headsman with his bare arm ready. 
That the blow may be both swift and steady. 
Feels if the axe be sharp and true — 
Since he set its edge anew : 
While the crowd in a speechless circle gather 
To see the Sou fall by the doom of the Father. 

XVI. 

It is a lovely hour as yet 
Before the summer sun shall set, 
Which rose upon that heavy day. 
And mock'd it with his steadiest ray; 
And his evening beams are shed 
Full on Hugo's fated head, 
As his last confession pouring 
To the monk, his doom deploring 
In penitential holiness, 
He bends to hear his accents bless 
With aljsolution such as may 
Wipe our mortal stains awav. 
That higli sun on his head did glisten 
As he there did bow and listen — 
And the rings of chestnut hair 
Curl'd half down his neck so bare ; 
But brighter still the beam was thrown 
Upon the axe which near him shone 
With a clear and ghastly glitter. — 
Oh ! that parting hour was bitter ! 
Even the stern stood ehill'd with awe : 
Dark the crime, and just the law — 
Yet the}' shudder'd as they saw. 

XYII. 

The parting prayers are said and over 
Of that false son — and daring lover 1 
His beads and sins are all recounted, 
His hours to their last minute mounted — 
His mantling cloak before was stripp'd. 
His bright brown locks must now be clipp'd : 
'Tis done — all closely are they shorn — 
The vest which till this moment worn — 
The scarf which Parisina gave — 
Must not adorn him to the grave. 
Even that must now be thrown aside. 
And o'er his eyes the kerchief tied ; 



160 PARISINA. 

But no — that last iinlijrnity 

Shall ne'er approach liis hauji-hty eye. 

All feclin<;'.s seoniiiifi'ly siihdiUHl, 

In deep disilahi wi-rc half renrw'd, 

When hcadsnian's hands prepared to bind 

Those eyes which would not brook such blind: 

As if they dared not look on death. 

" No — yours my forfeit blood and breath — 

These hands arc ehaui'd — but let me die 

At least with an unshackled eye — 

Strike : "—and as the word he said, 

Upon the block he liow'd his head; 

These the last act\nits IIuli'o spoke : 

" Strike : " — and llashiny fell the stroke — 

KoU'd the head — and, jiushinji', sunk 

Back the stain'd anil heaviujj' trunk, 

In the dust, which cac^h deep vein 

Slaked with its ensanjjuined rain; 

His eyes and lips a moment i|uiver, 

Convulsed and quick — theiv4« for ever. 

lie died, as erring man shoukl die, 

Without display, without jKirade; 

Meekly had he bow'd antl pray'd, 

As not disdainin>i' in'iestly aid, 
Nor desperate of all hope on hitih. 
And while before the i)rior kncelinp. 
His heart was weau'il from earthly feeling ; 
His wrathful sire — his paramour — 
What were they in such an hour ? 
No more reproach — no more despair ; 
No thought but hea\en — no word but prayer — 
Save the few which fron.i him lirolvc, 
AMien, bared to meet the headsman's stroke. 
He claini'd to die with eyes unbound, 
His sole adieu to those around. 

xvrii. 

Still as the lips tliat closed in death. 
Each gazer's bosom held bis lireath : 
But yet, atar, from man to man, 
A cold electric shiver ran. 
As down the deadly blow descended 
On him whose life and love thus ended; 
And, with a hushing sound compress'd, 
A sigh shrunk back on every In'cast ; 
But no more thrilling noise rose there. 
Beyond the blow that to the lilock 
Pierced through with forced and sullen shock, 
Save one : — What cleaves the silent air 
So madly shrill — so passing wild ? 
That, as a mother's o'er her child. 
Done to death by sudden blow. 
To the sky these accents go, 
Like a soul's in endless woe. 
Through Azo's pahu'c-lattice driven. 
That horrid voice iiscends to heaven. 



PARISINA. 161 



And every cyo is turnM thoronn ; 
But soiiik\ arid sijiht idikc nrc ^''oiic ! 
It was a woman's shriek — and ne'er 
In niadlier accents rose dcsjiair; 
And those who heard it, as it pass'd, 
In mercy wish'd it were the last. 



Hufjo is fallen ; and from that hour, 

No more in palace, hall, or bower. 

Was Parisina heard or seen : 

Her name — as if she ne'er had been — 

Was banish'd from each lip and ear. 

Like words of wantonness or fear ; 

And from Prince Azo's voice, by none 

Was mention heard of wife or son ; 

No tomb — no memory had they ; 

Theirs was unronsecratcd clay ; 

At least the kni-bt's who died that day 

But Parisina's fafe lies hid 

Like dust beneath the coffin-lid : 

Whether in convent she abode. 

And won to heaven her dreary road, 

By blighted and remorseful years 

Of scourf^o, and fast, and sleepless tears ; 

Or if she fell l)y bowl or steel, 

For that dark love she dared to feel; 

Or if upon the moment smote, 

She died by tortures less remote ; 

Like him she saw upon the block, 

With heart that shared the headsman's shock 

In quickcn'il l)rokenness that came, 

In pity, o'er her shatter'd frame, 

None knew — and none can ever know: 

But wliatsoe'cr its end below, 

Her life bej^an and closed in woe ! 



And Azo found another bride. 
And <roodly sons f;rew by his side; 
But none so lovely and so brave 
As him who wither'd in the grave ; 
Or if they wore — on his cold eye 
Their growtli liut glanced unheeded by, 
Or noticed with a smothcr'd sigh. 
But never tear bis cheek descended. 
And never smile bis brow unbended; 
And o'er tlial I'air broatl brow were wrought 
The intersected lines of thought; 
Those furrows which the burning share 
Of Sorrow ploughs untimely there ; 
Scars of the lacerating mind 
Which the Soul's war doth leave behind. 
He was past all mirth or woe : 
Nothing more remain'd below 
But sleepless nights and heavy days, 
11 



X62 PARISIXA. 

A niiiifl nil (load to scorn or praiso, 

A lii'art which sluiiiiiM itsclt— ami yet 

That woiilil not \icUl— nor coiiKl l'orj;et, 

"W'hicii, when it least appeai-'il to melt, 

Intently thou;:ht — intensely felt: 

Till' lieeiiesl ice which ever tVo/.c 

Can only o'er the sin'faei! close — 

The livinji' stream lies (luick below, 

And Hows — and cannot cease to How. 

f^lill was his seard-u)) hosom haunted 

By tiiouj;lits which Nature had implanted; 

Too deeply rooted then('e to vanish, 

llowe'er our stilled Tears wa' banish ; 

AMu'U, strut;-,ulinu' as they rise to start, 

"We check those waters o'f the heart, 

They are not dried — those tears unshed, 

But How back to the ibuuliiin-head. 

And resting- in their spring- more pure, 

For ever in its depth endure. 

Unseen, unwi'iit, but unconueal'd. 

And ciierish'd most where least reveal'd. 

"With inward starts of feelinj^ left. 

To throb o'er those of life beieft; 

Without the power to till aji-aiu 

The desert j:ap which made his pain; 

"Without the hope to meet them whero 

I'nited souls shall i^'laclucss share, 

AVitli all the consciousness that ho 

Had only jiass'd a just decree; 

That they had wrought their doom of ill ; 

Yet Azo's age was wretched si ill. 

The tainted branches of the tree. 

If lopji'd with care, a streni;th may fi'ivc, 
15y which the rest shall bloom and live 
All j:reenly fresh and wildly free: 
But if theliuiilniuu', in iis "wrath, 
The waving;' boughs with fury sealh, 
The massy trunk the rniii feels, 
And never more u leaf reveals. 



THE PRISONER OF CITILLON. 



ADVERTISKMENT. 

WillcN tills poem was composoil, I vviiH not Hiillli;li'iit)y awiire^ ol' ihr lilHlcirv ol 
)»()iiiilvanl, or J slioiilil liiivo (Midiuivored to (Hh'iiliy tli<! hiil)ji'i:t by lui attcnij)! 
to (-olcl^ratc Ills coiiniKO uiul IiIn vIrtiK's. Soiru! Hficoinit of IiIm lll'o will Ix' loiinil 
hclow, fiinilslicil iik; Ijy Uk; klniliiosH of a (•lll/.cii of llmt rcpiihllit, wlilcli Ih hIIII 
jjroiid ol' tli<: memory ol" ii niiiii worthy of the hest »>,"• of iiiicleiit frccilom ;— 

KnillooU (Ic. Koliiilviird. noii of l.oills do Iloniilvnrd, a iiafivo of Scysi'l, and 
SoiKiiuur of liiiiicm, was horn In 14!)(i; lio wax idiiealiMJ at 'I'lirln. In I.MU, Ills 
undo, Joan-Kclni! do IJonnhanl, rcslKned to lihn llir rrioiy nf Siint- VIetor, 
which adjoins the walls of (ieiieva, and which was a conMldiTiilili' livhu;. 

'fills Ki'ciit man,— IJoindvard Is dcscrvliiK of this title for Ids urea sk of koiiI, 

the nprlnlitness of Ills heart, the nohillly of his Intentions, llii^ wisdom of Ida 
counsels, the cotirugc! of Ids actions, the extent of his learnlnj,', and the bril- 
liancy of his wit,— this Kreat man, who will ever excite the admiration of all those 
wlioni an iK^rolc virtue can move, will always Insjjlro the most lively gratitude 
In the hearts of those (jenevese who love (ieneva. IWanilvard was always one 
of its firmest supports; to jirotect the lll)<!rty ot our reiiiihllc, he never fcari'd to 
lose his own; he fort'ot his case;, ho diisplsiMl his wealth; he iieghMMed nothliii,' to 
render CiTtaln the happiness of the country that he dlxnHhtd l>y his adopllon; 
Ihim that moment he loved It as the most zealous of Its clilzens, lie served It 
with the Intrepidity of a hero, and he wrote Its history with the simplicity of a 
philosopher, and the ardor of a palrlot. 

He says In th(! commcncu'inent of Ills " lllslory ol Cencva,' llial, " as s.ion as 
ho commenced to read the lilslorles of nations, he fell hlniscli' carried away by 
Ids love for rcpnhllcs, the Interest of which he always advocated." It was, 
doubtless, this very love of liberty that made lilin adopt (ieneva as Ids country. 

IJoindvard, while yet youn«, boldly stood forward as the deleinlir of (ienuvu, 
uKalnst the Ouke of Savoy and the lllsliop. 

In 151;), ISoinilvard becaiiK! the martyr of his connlry: llx Duke of Savoy 
liavlm; entered (Jeneva with (Ive linudred men, ISonnlvanl feareil the resinit- 
ment of the l*uko; he wIsIkmI to return to I'rlbourK to avoid iIm^ conse(|n(ni<M's; 
hill he was betrayed by two imni who accompanied him, and conducted by order 
of the prince to (Irolee, where for two years Ik' ri'inalned a prisiaier. 

Honnivard was nnlortiiiiali! in Ids travels. As his inlsforliineK had not 
slackeneil his ziral for (Ieneva, ii(! vvas always a redollblable eiK^my to liiosn 
who threatened it, ami accm-diiiKiy lie was llki^ly to lie exposed to their vl(denc(!. 
He was met In 1')*) on tlu! Jura, by thieves, who stripped him of everything, and 
placed him aKalii In the hands of the Duke of Savoy. This i)rlnce caiis<^d him 
to be conllned in the (,'tiateuu of (_'ijllli;n, where he remained willioiit being aul)- 



104 '^'"/•' I'liisoxKii or (uni.LoN. 

millcil to liny liiln-niKiilon' until l.'^ill ; lie was thru ilrllvcnHl by the llpniold, 
who took iiosx'sslon (if llir Tuns ili' ViMid. 

llonMlviii-il, on li'iivInK hU ciiplhily, Inul tlic iilriiNiirn of llmlinK toncvii tVro 
iumI ivtbinic.l. 'Ihi' Hcpnlillc Inislcncil to ti'stlty Its Knitltiidi' to him, iind to 
rocouipi'iiNi' him toi- 1 hi' evils wlili'h lui ImdmiDoi'iMi. It riicolvcd lihii as ii citizen 
ol tlio town. In llu' month ol .liinii, IMti; ItKHvr him Ihr liotisi' t'ormcrly Inhaliltcil 
by tlio Vlcar-(!inifral, ami asslKnod to hini a pi'nslcvn oi' two linndrnl ^old 
crowns, as lonK as hi> should sojourn In (li'Uova. llcwus iulnullid Inlo tho 
council of Two lluiulriul In l.'ii!". 

IlonidvanI dlil not now cease to ho ii8ofiil; after havlun lahored to mnUe 
Ccneva free, he siuceeded In umkliih' It tolerant. Hoiinlvard previilled upon 
the council to accord to theCalvlntsts anil peasants a siitlUlent lime forexamlu- 
\\\\i the imiposltlons which were made to tliom; he snccceded by his meekness. 
Christianity Is always preached with success when It Is preaclieil with <'harlty. 

ISonulvard wiis learned. Ills manuscripts, which arc In the pnlillc llhrary, 
prove that he had dllln<'Utly stmllecl llie l.atiii classics, and that lu' hail pene- 
trated the depths of theoloKy and hlsiory. 'I'his nie«t nuin loved Iho sclenees, 
nnd thoUKht they would couslllule the kIoiv ol'tieneva; aceordll>t;ly ho liCK'- 
lecled nothing to estahllsh them In this rlslnn toHji,. In l.Vil, ho Kuve his library 
to the public; It was the connui'nccuuMil of our piddle llhrary. Ami a portion 
of Ids hooks arc those rare and beautiful editions of the lllleenlh century which 
itro seen In our collectUai. I'Mmilly, durluK the same year, this piod patriot ap- 
pointed the Uepnhllc his heir, on condition that it woul.l emidoy his wealth In 
Bupi>ortlnK the college, the Ibniulatlon of which w.is bein>; pro.i''i''c>l. 

It appears that llounlvaril died In l.'iTU; but this cannot bo certllleil, as an 
hiatus occurs In the Necrology, trom tin- monlli of .Inly, l.'i70, to l.'>7l. 



SONNI'.T ON (MIILLON. 

F.Tl''l!N.\l. Spirit of tho clmiiilcss Miiul ! 

Mi'ioliU'st ill iliiiiocoiis, l.ihci'ly! Ihini art, 

V'or tluTt' tliv liiibilMtinii is tlif heart — 
The heart wliieii love of thee iihme can l>ii(it ; 
Ami wlieii tiiy suns to lettevs are consioirtl — 

'i'o fetters, ami llii" iliuiip \ null's iliivless oUioni, 

Tlii'ir coiitilrv eominers with their iiiiirlynloiii. 
Ami I'^ieeilonrs fniiie limls wiiio's on every wiiiil. 
('hiliiiii! thy tirisoii is a holy |ilMee, 

Ami thy sail lloor an iiltar — for "Iwns troil, 
I'lilil his vi'i-y sli'iis have left a trace 

Worn, as if thy eolil iiavetiii'iit wore ii soil, 
\\\ Iu>iiiii\arii ! May none those murks elVaec! 

l'\ir the\ apiieal iVoiii tyraiiiiy to (ioil. 



THE PRISONER OF CIIIELON. 



My hair is pray, but not with years, 
Nor j^f'rcw it while 
III a siii^de )ii;^ht,* 
As men's liave f^rown from siKhlcn fears: 
My limhs are l)ow'(l, tiioii;;h not wilii toil, 

Hut Misled wilii a viht repose, 
For tiicy have heiMi a (hili^reon's spf)il, 

And mine has iieen the fate of tliosc 
To wlioin the j^^oodly eartii anil air 
Are bann'd, and l)arr'd — forltiiiden fare; 
But tliis was for my f;Uli(M''s failii 
1 siilfer'd chains and I'oiirled death; 
Tliat father perish'd attiie stake 
l''or tenets he would not foi'sake ; 
And for the same his lineal raee 
In darkness I'ound a (hvellin<r-plaoc ; 
Wo wore seven — who now are one, 

Six in youth, and one in age, 
Finisli'd as they had i)e;,i'un, 

I'i'oud of I'ersecut ion's rage; 
One in tire, and Iwo in field, 
Their helief witii hiood iiave seal'd; 
Dying as Iht'ir fatiier died, 
For the (iod tii(;ir I'oes denied ; 
Tiirec; were in a (hingeon east. 
Of wiiom tliis wreck is left the last. 



Tliere are seven pillars of (Jothie mould, 
In ( ;hillon's dungeons deep and old. 
There are seven columns, massy and gray, 
Dim with a liull imprison'd ray', 
A suni)eam whirli liulii lost its way. 
And throngii liie crevice and the cleft 
<)i the tiiick wall is fallen and left; 
Creeping o'er tiie iloor so damp, 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp; 
And in each pillar there is a ring. 

And in eacii ring there is a chain; 
That iron is a cankering thing. 

For in these limhs its teeth remain, 

• Lndovlfo Sforzji, hikI otliors.— The Hame Id aHsertffd of Marjp Antoinette's, 
thfi wllo of I.ouIh XVI., tlioiiKli not In ((iiltc so short a period. (ir\r-f is said to 
liavc the suiiie effect: to such, auU not to tear, this chuiifc In /tun was to be 
attributed. 

165 



10(3 THE PRISONER OF CUILLO^T. 

With marks that will not wear away, 
Till 1 have iltnic with this new day," 
^^■hieh now is iiainl'iil lo these eyes, 
Whieli have not seen the sun so rise 
For years— I eannot count them o'er, 
I lost their loui;- ami heavy score 
^Vhen my last hrother dniopM ami died. 
And I lay livinji' by his siilo. 

III. 

They chainM ns each to a column stouo, 
And" we were three — yet, each alone : 
A\'e eould not move a single pace, 
AVe eoultl not see each other's I'ai'e, 
liui with that jiale and livid li;:ht 
That made us strangers in our sij;ht; 
Ai'id thus toLicther— yet apart, 
Fetter'd in hand, but piued in heart; 
'Twas still siune solace in the ilearth 
Of the pure elements of ciutb-, 
To hearken to each other's speech. 
And each turn comforter to each 
AX'ith some new hope, or lej;eiul old, 
()r sonu' heroically bold; 
But even these at length j;rew cold. 
Our voices took a dreary tone, 
An echo of the dunj;eou-stoue, 
A frratinii" souml — not full and free 
As they of yore were wont tii be; 
It miji'fit l)e"fancy — but to me 
They uevcr sounded like our owu. 

IV. 

I was the eldest of the three. 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 
I ouuht to do — and did— my best, 
And each did well in his decree. 

The you nicest, whom my father loved, 
Ik'cause our mother's brow was ;^ivcu 
To him — with eyes as blue as heaven, 
For him my soul was sorely moved; 
And truly mi"f:ht it be distrost 
To see such bird iu sui'h a nest; 
For he was beautiful as day — 
(When day was beautiful to mo 
As to youuu' eajiles, beiuj;' free) — 
A polar dav, which will not sec 
A sunset till its summer's ^oue. 

Its slecjiless suumicr of lonu' lij^ht. 
The snow-clad olVspriu.Lr of tlic sun : 

And thus he was as jiurc anil bright, 
And in his natural spirit j^ay, 
\Vith tears for nought but others' ills, 
And then they tlow'd like nu)untaiu rilU, 
I'nless he coidd assuaj;e the woe 
Which he abhorr'd to view below. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILL ON. IQI 

V. 

The other was as pure of mind, 
But I'orniM to combat Avith his kind; 
Stron;^- in his frame, and of a mood 
Whicli 'jiaiiist the workl in war had stood, 
And pci'ish'd in the foremost rank 

With joy : — but not in chains to piue : 
His spirit wither'il witli their clank, 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so perchance iu sooth did mine ; 
But }-et I forced it on to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear. 
He was a hunter of the hills, 

Had follow'd there the deer and wolf; 

To him this dunj^-eon was a ^ulf, 
And fetter'd feet the worst of ills. 

VI. 

Lake Lcman lies by Chillon's walls : 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its mass}- waters meet and How; 
Tlius much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement,* 

M'hieh round about the wave enthralls : 
A double dunyeon wall and wave 
Have made— and like a living gi\ave. 
Below the surface of the lake 
The dark vault lies v.'herein we lay, 
'Wc- heartl it ripple night and day ; 

Sountling o'ei- our heads it kn'ock'd; 
And I h;i,ve felt the winter's spray 
Wash through the bars when winds were high. 
And wanton in the happy sky ; 

And then the very rock hath i-ock'd, 

And 1 have felt it shake, unshock'd, 
Because 1 could have smiled to see 
The death that would have set me free. 

VII. 

I said my nearer brother pined, 
I said his mighty heart declined. 
He loathed and put away his food : 

* The Chateau dc ('hilli)ii is situated Ijctweou Clarens and Villeneuve, which 
last is atone extremity lit tlie Lake of (Jenev!;. On its lett are tlie entrances 
Of the Klione, and opposite are tlie heights of Meillerie and tlie ranse of AIds 
above Boveret and St. (iingu. 

Near it, on a hill Ijehind, is a torrent; below it, washing its walls, the lake has 
been fathomed to tlie dciiMi oi' ,si)i) fret (l-'n^neli measure) ; within it are a range 
Of dnngeuns, in wbicli thr cnlv Ucionucr.s, and subsiMiiu'ntlv prisoners of state, 

were confined. Across f ihc- \ aulis is a beam blacl< witli age, on which we 

were nitormcd tliat tin- cMKlcmncd were (..nrn'rlv rxccnted. In the cells are 
seven iidhns, or, ratlicr, eight, one being iialf nicr,'cd in tlie wall; in some of 
these are rniKs tor tlic tellers and Die fettered: in ilie |iav<'ment the steps of 
Bonnivard have left their traces— lie was eoiiliiied liere several years. 

It is by tills castle that Koiisscaii has li.\ed the catastrophe of his Heloise, in 
the rescue of one of lier ehiidren by.Iiilie from (he w-aier; tlie sliock of which, 
and the illness iirodiiced liy the immersion, is the eaiise of her death. 

The chateau is large, and seen along the lake for a great distance. The walls 
are white. 



108 THE PRISOXER OF CHILLON. 

It was not tliat 'twa-s coarse ami nule, 
For we were used to hunter's taiv, 
Anil for the like had liltlo earc : 
The milk drawn t'roni the mountain jroat 
Was ehanued for water from tlic moat, 
Our hreail was such as eaptive's tears 
Have moisten'd many a thousand years, 
yiuee man \\v<\ pent his fellow-men 
Like hrutes within an iron den : 
Eut what were these to us or him ? 
These wasteil not his heart or limh ; 
My hrother's soul was of that mould 
M'hieh in a palaee had <;rown I'old, 
Had his free Invathiuu' heen denii'd 
The rani;e of the steep mountain's side; 
But why delay the truth ■ — he died. 
I saw, and eould not hold his head. 
Nor reaeh his dyinu" hand — nor dead — 
Thonuh hard 1 "strove, hut strove in vain, 
To rend and >;nash my hondsTn twain. 
He dieii— and they unloek'd his chain. 
And seoop'd I'or hiui a shallow ^rave 
Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
] he^u'd them, as a boon, to lay 
His corpse in dust whereon the day 
Mii^ht shine — it was a foolish thought. 
But then within my liraiu it wrought. 
That even in deatii his free-born breast 
In such a dungeon eoidd not rest. 
1 might have spared my idle prayer — 
They eohlly lauuh'd — and laid him there: 
Thetlat and turtless earth above 
The beiuu' we so nuu'h did love ; 
His empty I'hain above it leant. 
Such munler's tittiug monnnieat ! 

VIII. 

But he, the favorite and the tlower. 

Most ehcrish'd since his natal hour. 

His mother's iniaue in fair face. 

The infant love of all his race, 

His martyr'd father's dearest thought, 

My latest care, for whom 1 sought 

To hoard my life, that his might be 

Less wretched now, and one day free; 

He, too, who yet had held untired 

A spirit natural oy inspired — 

He, too, was struck, and day by day 

^\■as wither'd on the stalk away. 

O (iod! it is a fearful thing 

To see the human sold take wing 

In any shape, in any mootl: — 

I've seen it rnsliing forth in blood, 

I've seen it on the breaking ocean 

Strive with a swoln convulsive nunion, 

I've seen the sick and ghastlv bed 



THE PRISONER OF CUILLON. 

Of Sin delirious witli its dread ; 
lint, lliese were horrors — this was woo 
Uiiinix'd with such— imt sure anil slow: 
He laded, and so calm anil meek, 
So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 
So tearless, vet so tender— kind, 
Aiut <,M-ieved for those he left hehind 
With all the while a cheek whose hlooin 
"Was as a mockery of the tomb, 
Whose tints as f,'-ently sunk away 
As a departinij rainl)ow's ray^ 
An eye of most transparent liiiht, 
TliMt almost made the dunf;eon bright, 
And not a word of nmrnuir— not 
A ;;roan o'er his untimely lot — 
A litlle talk of i)ettur days, 
A litlle hope my own to raise, 
For I was sunk' in silence— lost 
In this last loss, of all the most; 
And ihen the si;:lis lie would suppress 
(»f faintinjc nature's feebleness, 
More slowly drawn, grew less and less: 
1 listen'd, but I could not hear— 
1 eall'd. for I was wild with fear; 
1 knew 'twas iiopeless, but my dread 
Would not be thus aduiouisiied ; 
I eaU'd, and thougiit 1 heard a sound— 
1 burst my chain wilii one strong bound, 
And rush d to him : — I found him not; 
/only stirr'd in this black spot, 
/only lived—/ only drew 
The accursed breath of dunjieon-dew ; 
The last— the sole— the dearest link 
Between me and the eternal brink. 
Which hound me to my failing race, 
Was broken in this fatal place. 
One on the earth, and one beneath — 
My brothers— both had ceased to l)reathc: 
I took that hand which lay so still, 
Alas ! my own was full as chill ; 
I had not strength to stir, or strive, 
Hut felt that I was still alive— 
A frajitic feeling, when we know 
That what we love shall ne'er be so, 
J know not why 
I c(juld not die, 
I had no earthly hope— but faith. 
And that forbade a selfish death. 



What next befell me then and there 
1 know not well— I never knew — 

First canu; the loss of light, and air, 
And then of darkness too: 

I iiad no thought, no feeling— none — 

Among the stones I stood a stone, 



169 



170 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 

And was, sonroo conscious wb;it I wist, 
As slu'ulilcss cniu's witliin the mist; 
VoY all was itlaiik, and i>lcak, and f^ray, 
It was not niulit — it was not day, 
It was not oven tiio dnnuvon-lij^ht, 
80 liatoi'ul to my heavy sii;ht, 
l?ut vacancy ahsorhinu' space, 
And tixediiess — witiiont a place; 
-^ Thei'c wcie no stars— no earth — no time — 
No check — no elian^c — no ;;ood — no criu\o- 
]?ut silence, and a siirless hrealh 
^Vllieh neither was of life uor death; 
A sen of staii'nant idleness, 
Blind, lH>iiiidless, nnite, and motionless! 



A liu'lit hroke in upon niv brain — 

It was the carol of a bird ; 
It ceased, and then it came a^ain, 

The sweetest sonii' eiir evov4ieard, 
And mine was thaidcfnl till my eyes 
Ivan over with the ulad sin-pri>e. 
And thev that moment could not soo 
1 was the male of misery ; 
But then iiy dull deuives eamc hack 
My senses to tiieir wonted track, 
1 saw the dnniTCim walls and lloor 
(^lose slowly round me as helbrc, 
I saw the ylimmer of the sua 
(^'cciiiuL; as it bel'ore had done. 
But lhrouL;h the crevice where it camo 
That bird was pereh'd. as fond and tame, 

Aiul tamer than upon the tree; 
A lovely bird, witli a/iuv winjrs. 
And soni;- that said a thousand thinirs. 

Ami s»>em'd to say thcui all for lue ! 
I never saw its like lu'tiu'c, 
I ne'er shall see its likeness more : 
It seem'd. like me, to want a mute, 
liut was not half so desolate. 
And it was eome to love n»o when 
None lived to love mo so au:ain, 
And cheeriu!;- from mv dnuu'con's iirink, 
Had bioni;h1 uu- ba^'klo feel and think. 
1 know not if it Inle were tVee, 

Or broke its eai;c to nerch on mine. 
But knowini;' well captivity, 

8weet bird! 1 could not wish for thine! 
Or if it were, in wiuued n'uise, 
A visitant from I'ariidiso; 

Foi- — Heaven forgive that thouuht! the whilff 
Which made nu> both to weep and smile — 
1 sometimes deem'd that it mijiht bo 
My brotlier's soid eome down to me; 
But then at last away it tlew. 
And then 'twas mortal — well I knew, 



TI'.F. I'lllSOMIHt OF ('IIII.IA)X. 



171 



For lie wotilil iK'Vcr tliiiH liiivo flown, 
Ami Ici'l mo Iwicc mo doiilily lone — 
liOilo — iH llic coi'iisc williiii ils shroud, 
Loik; — ii^t II Moliliiiy cloud, 

A niii^''l(^ cloud oil II Hiimiy ^hvy, 
While nil I lie rcsl <ir heaven is eleiir, 
A IVoWli upon Hie !illiios|iiiere, 
'J'iiiii liiilii uo liiisiiii'ss lo ii|i|ieiif 

VVhcrii skicH are liliie, iiiid (^ai'lli in ^'a,y. 
XI. 
A kind of chanjjff! eaiiu^ in tiiy I'liff, 
]My ki'<'])erH (jrew cf)ni|)aHsioiiii,le, 
I know not wliiil; had niiMle Iheni ho, 
'I'hey well! iuiii'cil lo si;^hls of wo(!, 
Milt. HO il, was: my hrokiMi chain 
Willi links nnrasleird did I'lrinaiii, 
And il. was liherly lo stride! 
Ahni;^- my cell IVoiii sido lo side, 
And up iMiil down, and llien athwart, 
And trcMil it, ovci- i^very part,; 
And round Hie pillars inn: liy oiio, 
Iti'liiniin;;' where my walk he^riiii^ 
A voliijn;^'' only, as I trod, 
]My lirothers' ^;i'aves without ii sod ; 
I'Vtr if I l,liouy:lit with hecdlcHS tread 
My step profaned their lowly Ix^d, 
Aly hrealli ciiine ^aspin^ly ;iiid thick. 
And my criishM hearl feli hliiid and nick. 

Ml. 

T miide a footin;^'- in Ihe wall, 

It, WHS not, IherelVoni lo escape, 
]''or I liMil liiiiied mil' and all. 

Who loved me in a limmiii shape; 
And the whole earth would lienei,lorlli l)« 
A wider prison unto mo : 
No child no HJre — no kill had I, 
No partner in my misery; 
J thou^^ht of this, and I was jrlad, 
I'"or tliou^,''hl, of llicin had made me mad: 
Jtiit I was curious lo ascend 
To my liMrr'd windows, and lo hend 
Once more, ii]i(m the inoiinlaiiiH liif^li, 
Tho (jiliet of a loviii;,'' vyi'.. 

XIM. 
I saw them- iiiid they were the same, 
'I'hey were not ehan;reil like me in friiiiio ; 
1 saw their thousand years of snow 
On lii^'li their wide lou^f laki! helow. 
And the hliie Ulione in fullest (low : 
I heard the lorreiils leap and t;ush 
O'er channeird rock and hrokeii hush; 
I saw Ihe while-WMird distant, town, 
A lid whiter siiils ^o skimmin;,'- down ; 
And lliiiii there was ii little isle,* 
• rk'lwfon llio ciitiaiiiJi'H of tlio Jtlioiio uiiil \llloiiftivc, not liir Ihur dillloii. 



172 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 

Which in my very face did smile, 

The only one in view ; 
A small green isle, it seem'd no more. 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor. 
But in it there were three tall trees. 
And o'er it blew the mountain bieeze, 
And by it there were waters flowing. 
And on it there were young flowers growing, 

Of gentle breath and hue. 
The fish swam ))y the castle wall, 
And they seem'd joyous each and all; 
The eagle rode the rising blast, 
Methought he never flew so fast 
As then to me he seem'd to fly. 
And then new tears came in my eye, 
And I felt troubled — and would fain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 
And when I did descend again, 
The darkness of my dim abode 
Fell on me as a heavy load ; _^ 
It was as is a new-dug grave. 
Closing o'er one we sought to save, 
And yet my glance, too much opprest, 
Had almost need of such a rest. 



It might be months, or years, or days, 

I kept no count — I took no note, 
I had no hope my eyes to raise, 

And clear them of their dreary mote ; 
At last men came to set me free, 

I ask'd not why, and reck'd not whe:e, 
It was at length the same to me, 
Fetter'd or fetterless to be, 

I learn'd to love despair. 
And thus when they appear'd at last, 
And all my bonds aside were cast. 
These heavy walls to me had grown 
A hermitage — and all my own ! 
And half I felt as they were come 
To tear me from my second home : 
With spiders 1 had friendship made, 
And watch'd them in their sullen trade, 
Had seen the mice by moonlight play, 
And why should I feel less than they ? 
We were all inmates of one place. 
And I, the monarch of each race. 
Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell ! 
In quiet we had learn'd to dwell — 
]SIy very chains and I grew friends. 
So' much a long communion tends 
To make us wliat we are : — even I 
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh. 

is a very small island ; the oiil\- one I could perceive, in my voyage round and 
over the lake, within its circimiference. It contahis a few trees (I think not 
above thre*), and from its singleness and diminutive si^e has a peculiar eflect 
upon the view. 



THE DREAM. 



I. 

OlTR life is twofold : Sleep hath its own world, 
A houndary between the tliiiij^rs misnamed 
Death and existence : .Sleep hath its own world. 
And a wide realm of wild reality, 
And dreams in tlieir development have breath, 
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; 
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts. 
They take a weight from otf our waking toils. 
They do divide our being ; they become 
A portion of ourselves as of our time, 
And look like lieralds of eternity ; 
They pass like spirits of the past — thej' speak 
Like sibyls of the future ; thej' have power — 
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain ; 
The}- make us what we were not — what they will,, 
And shake us with the vision that's gone %, 
The dread of vanish'd shadows — Are they so ? 
Is not the ]iast all shadow ? "What are they ? 
Creations of the mind ? — The mind can make 
Stibstance, and people planets of its own 
With beings brighter than have been, and give 
A lireatli to forms which can outlive all liesh. 
I would recall a vision whicli I dream'd 
Perchance in sleep — for in itself a thought, 
A slumbering thought, is capable of years, 
And curdles a long life into one hour. 

II. 

I saw two beings in the hues of youth 

Standing u]ion a lull, a gentle hill. 

Green and of mild declivity, the last 

As 't^vcre the cape of a long ridge of such, 

Save that there was no sea to lave its base, 

But a most living landscape, and the wave 

Of woods antl cornfields, and the alwdes of men 

Scatter'd at intervals, and wreathing smoke 

Arising from sucli rustic roofs ; — the hill 

Was crown'd witli a peculiar diadem 

Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd. 

Not by the sport of nature, but of man : 

178 



174 THE DREAM. 

The?e two, a maiden and a yonth, were there 

Gaziu": — the one on all that was beneath 

Fair as herself — hut the boy gazed on her ; 

And both were joung', and one was beautii'ul : 

And both were young — yet not alike in youth. 

As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge, 

The maid was on the eve of womanhood ; 

The l>oy had fewer summers, but his heart 

Had far outgrown his j'ears, and to his eye 

There was but one beloved face on earth, 

And that was shinhig on him; he had look'd 

Upon it till it could not pass away ; 

He had no breath, no being, but in hers : 

She was liis voice; he did not speak to her, 

But trembled on her words : she was his sight, 

For his eye Ibllow'd hers, and saw with hers, 

Which colorM all his objects : — he had ceased 

To live within himself; she was his life, 

The ocean to the river of his thoughts. 

Which terminated all : upon a-tone, 

A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow, 

And his cheek change tempestuously — his heart 

Unknowing of its cause of agony. 

But she in these fond feelings had no share : 

Her sighs were not for him ; to her he was 

Even as a brother — but no more ; 'twas much, 

For brotherless she was, save in the name 

Her infant friendship had bestow'd on him : 

Herself the solitary scion left 

Of a time-honor'd race. — It was a name 

Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not — and why ? 

Time taught him a deep answer — when she loved 

Another ; even now she loved another, 

And on the summit of that hill she stood 

Looking afar if yet her lover's steed 

Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. 

in. 
A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
There was an ancient mansion, and before 
Its walls there was a steed caparisou'd : 
Within an antique Oratory stood 
The Boy of whom I spake ; — he was alone. 
And pale, and pacing to and fro : anon 
He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced 
Words which I could not guess of; then he lean'd. 
His bow'd head on his hands, and shook as 'twere 
With a convulsion — then rose again. 
And with Ills teeth and quivering hands did tear 
What he had written, but he shed no tears. 
And he did calm himself, and fix his brow 
Into a kind of quiet : as he paused, 
The Lady of his love re-enter'd there ; 
She was serene and smiling then, and yet 
She knew she was by him beloved ; — she knew — 
For quickly comes such knowledge — that his heart 



THE DREAM. 17: 

Was (larkcn'cl with her shadow, and she saw 

That he was wretched, but she saw not all. 

He rose, and with a cold and g'entle grasp 

He took her hand ; a moment o'er his face 

A tablet of unutterable thoug'hts 

Was traced, and then it faded, as it came : 

He dropp'd the hand he held, and with slow steps 

Retired, but not as biddin;;' her adieu. 

For they did part with mutual smiles ; he pass'd 

From out the massy ji'ate of that old llall. 

And mounting on his steed he went his way; 

And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more. 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The Boy was sprung to manhood : in the wilds 
Of fiery climes he made himself a home. 
And his soul drank their sun1)eams : he was girt 
With strange and dusky aspects ; he was not 
Himself like what he had lieen ; on the sea 
And on the shore he was a wanderer; 
There was a mass of many images 
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was 
A part of all ; and in the last he lay 
Reposing from the noontide sultriness, 
Coueh'd among fallen columns, in the shade 
Of ruin'd walls that had survived the names 
Of those who rear'd them ; by his sleeping side 
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds 
Were fasten'd near a fountain ; and a man. 
Clad in a flowing garli, did watch the while, 
While many of his tribe slumber'd around: 
And they were canopied b^' the l)lue sky, 
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful. 
That God alone was to be seen in heaven 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The Lady of his love was wed with One 
Who did not love her better : — in her home, 
A thousand leagues from his — her native home, 
She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy, 
Daughters and sons of Beauty— but behold ! 
Upon her face there was the tint of grief, 
The settled shadow of an inwaril strife. 
And an unquiet ilrooping of the eye, 
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears, 
What could her grief be ? — she had all she loved, 
And he who had so loved her was not there 
To trouble with liad hopes, or evil wish, 
Or ill-repress'd atfliction, her pure thoughts. 
What could her grief be ? — she had loved him not. 
Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved. 
Nor coukl he be a part of that which prey'd 
Upon her mind — a spectre of the past. 



176 THE DREAM. 



A cliangre came o'er the spirit of m}- dream. 

The Wanderer was rcturn'd. — I saw him stand 

Before an Ahar — with a <i-entlc bride ; 

Her face was fair, l)ut was not that wliich made 

The Starlight of liis Boyhood ; — as he stood 

Even at the aUar, o'er his brow there came 

Tlie selfsame aspect, and the quivering shock 

That in the antique Oratory shook 

His bosom in its solitude ; and tlicn— 

As in that hour — a moment o'er his face 

The tablet of unutterable thoughts 

Was traced — and then it faded as it came, 

And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke 

The fitting vows, but heai'd not his own woi'ds, 

And all tilings reel'd around liini ; he could see 

Not that which was, nor that which should have been- 

But the old mansion, and the acciistom'd hall, 

And the remeniber'd chambers, and the place, 

The day, the hour, the sunshim^Tand the shade. 

All things pertaining to that place and houi", 

And her who was his destiny, came back 

And thrust themselves between him and the light ; 

What business had they there at such a time ? 



A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. 
The Lady of his love ; — oh ! she was changed. 
As by the sickness of the soul ; her mind 
Had wander'd from its dwelling, and her eyes. 
They had not their own lustre, but the look 
Which is not of the earth ; she was become 
The queen of a fantastic realm ; her thoughts 
Were combinations of disjointed things ; 
And forms inqialpable and unperceived 
Of others' sight familiar were to hers. 
And this the world calls frenzy : but the wise 
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance 
Of melancholy is a fearful gift ; 
What is it but the telescope of truth ? 
Which strips the distance of its fantasies, 
And brings life near in utter nakedness. 
Making the cold reality too real ! 

VIII. 

A change came o'er the sjiirit of my dream. 

The \\'anderer was alone as heretofore, 

The beings which surrounded liim were gone, 

Or were at war with him ; he was a mark 

For blight and desolation, corapass'd round 

M'ith Hatred and Contention ; Pain was mix'd 

In all which was served up to him, until, 

Like to tlie Pontic monarch of old days, 

He fed on poisons, and they had no power. 

But were a kin-d of nutriment ; he lived 

Through that which had been death to many men, 



THE DREAM. 177 

And made him friends of mountains : with tuo »'.t. 3 

And the ((uiek Spirit of the I'nis'erse 

lie hekl his (halo;iiies : and they did teach 

To him the niaj;ie of tlieir mysteries; 

To liim the hook of Night was open'd wido, 

And voices from the deep ahyss revcal'd 

A marvel and a secret. — Be it so. 



My dream is past; it had no further char;;'}. 
It was of a strange order, that the doom 
Of these two creatures should be tLus traced ~,>'X. 
Almost like a reality — the one 
To end iu maduess — both in misOiy. 
12 



THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

At Ferrara, in the Library, are preserved tlie original MSS. of Tasso's 
^' Gioriisalemme " and of Guarini's " Pastor Fido," with letters of Tasso, one 
from Titian to Ariosto, and tlie inlistand and cliair, the tomb and house, of the 
latter. But, as misfortune has a greater interest for posterity, and little or none 
for the contemporary, the cell where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St. 
Anna attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or monument of Ariosto — 
at least it had this effect on me. There are two inscrijitions, one on the outer 
gate, the second over the cell itself, inviting, unnecessarily, the wonder and the 
indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is much decayed and depopulated: the 
castle still exists entire ; and I saw the court where I'arisina and Hugo wer« 
beheaded, according to the anual of Gibbon. 

178 



THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 



Long years ! — It ti-ics the thrillino; frame to bear 

And eagle-spirit of a child of Song — 

Long years of outrage, calumny, and wrong ; 

Imputed madness, prison'd solitude, 

And the mind's canker in its savage mood. 

When the impatient thirst of light and air 

Parches the heart ; and the abhorred grate, 

]\Iarring the sunbeams with its hideous shade, 

^\'orks through the throbbing eyeball to the brain, 

With a hot sense of heaviness and pain ; 

And bare, at once. Captivity display'd 

Stands scoffing through the never-open'd gate, 

^\'hich nothing through its bars admits, save day. 

And tasteless food, which I have ate alone 

Till its unsocial bitterness is gone ; 

And I can banquet like a i)east of prey. 

Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave 

"Which is my lair, and — it may be — my grave. 

All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear, 

But must be borne. I stoop not to despair ; 

For I have battled with mine agony, 

And made me wings wherewith to overfly 

The narrow circus of my dungeon wall. 

And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall : 

And revcli'd among men and things divine, 

And ]H>iir'd my spirit over Palestine, 

In lionor of the sacred war for Ilim, 

Tlie CJoil who was on earth and is in heaven. 

For lie has strengthen'd mc in heart and limb. 

That through this sutferancc I might be forgiven, 

I have emi)loy'd my penance to record 

How Salem's shrine was won and how adored. 



liut thi3 is o'er — my pleasant task is done : — 
My long-sustaining friend of many years ! 
If I do blot thy tinal page with tears. 
Know, that my sorrows have wrung from me none. 
But thou, my young creation ! my soul's child ! 
Which ever playing round mc came and smiled, 

179 



180 THE LAMENT OF TASSO. 

And wooM nio from myself with thy sweet sight, 

Thou too ;irt i^'OiK' — ;unl so is my lU'liuht ; 

And theiTtbro do I weep and inly hk'od 

"With this hist bruise ujion a broken reed. 

Then too art ended— what is left nie now ? 

For T have ani;insh yet to bear — and how ? 

I know not that — luit in the innate force 

Of my own spirit shall be found resource. 

I have not sunk, for 1 had no remorse. 

Nor cause for such : tlu'v call'd nic mad — and why > 

Leonora ! wilt not f/iou reply ? 

1 was indeed delirious in my heart 
To lift my love so lofty as thou art ; 
liut still my iVen/y was not of the nund; 
I knew my lault, and feel my ininishuient 
Not less because 1 sulVer it unbent. 
That thou wert beautiful, and 1 not blind, 

Ilath been the sin which shuts me from maukiud ; 

But let them txo, or tm-ture as they will, 

^ly heart can nudtijily thine imajrc still; 

Successful love nuiv sati" itself away. 

The wretched are l"lie faithful; 'tis'iheir fate 

To have all feelinji- save the one decay, 

And every ))assion into one dilate. 

As i-apid rivers into ocean iiour; 

But oiu's is fathondess, and hatli no shore. 

III. 
Above me, hark ! the lonu' and maniac cry 
Of minds and bodies in cajitivity. 
And hark! the lash and tl\e increasinji- howl, 
And the hali-inartieidaic l)las|ihemy ! 
There be some here with wiirse than frenzy foul. 
Some who do still uiiad on the o'erlaborM miud, 
And dim the little lij;ht that 's left i)ehind 
With needless torture, as their tyrant will 
Is wound up to the lust of doinsj: ill : 
With these and with their \ietinis am I class'd, 
'^lid sounds and siulits like these lonj;' years have pass' J : 
'Mid sounds and sights like these my life may close : 
So let it be — for then I shall repose." 

IV. 

I have been patient, let me be so yet; 

I had forjiotton half 1 woidd foruet. 

But it revives — oh ! woidd it were my lot 

To be foryctfid as I am foi-u'ot ! — 

Feel I not wroth with those who liade me dwell 

In this vast lazar-lunise of nniny woes ? 

Where hiuii'hter is not mirth, nor thonuht the miud, 

Nor words ii lanji'iuiue, nor even men mankind; 

Where cries rejily to curses, shrieks to blows, 

And each is tortured in his scjiarate hell — 

For we are crowdi'd in our solitudes — 

Many, but each divided by the wall. 

Which echoes ^hulness in her babbling moods : — 



THE LAM EXT OF TASSO. [^i 

While all oan hear, none heed his nci^i'hbor's call — 
None! save that One, the vei'iest wretch of all. 
Who was not made to lie the mate of tliesc. 
Nor hound l)etween Distraction and Disease. 
Feel I not wroth with tliose who placed nie here ? 
Wlio have debased mc in the minds of men, 
I)el)arrintr mc tlie nsaji'C of my own, 
]>]i^;liliii;r my lite in l)est of its career, 
IJrandinii' my tiion^ilits as tiiiiiji's to shun and fear ? 
^\'o^ld 1 not i>:iy them back these pau;.;'s a^ain, 
And teach tliein iuwai'd Sorrow's stiHed i4roau ? 
The stru^>;lc to be calm, and (!old lUstress, 
Which undermines our Stoical success ? 
No! — still loo proud to be vindictive — I 
Have pardon'd ]>rinces' insults, and would die. 
Yes, Sister of my Soverei^^n ! tor tliy sake 
I weed all bitterness from out my i)reast. 
It hath no business wlicre t/iou art a u'ucst; 
Thy brother hates — l)ut I can not detest; 
Thou pitiest not — but I can not forsake. 

V. 

Look on a love which knows not to despair, 

But all uufiuenchM is still my better part, 

Dwcllinj^ deep in my shut and silent heart. 

As dwells the ^ather'd li;;'htniu}^ in its cloud, 

Enconipass'd with its dark and rollinj^ shroud, 

Till struck— fortli llics tlic all-ctiua-cal dart! 

And thus at llie colHsion of tiiy name 

Tlie vivid thou;;lit still liashi's tiirou^^'h my frame, 

And for a moment all things as they were 

Flit liy me; — they are fi'one — I am the same. 

And yet my love without ainl)ition j;"rew; 

I knew thy state, my station, and 1 knew 

A Princess was no love-mate for a bard; 

I told it not, I breathed it not, it was 

SuHicient to itself, its own rewartl; 

And if my eyes revcalVl it, they, alas ! 

Were punish'd by the silentness of tiiine, 

And yet I did not venture to rei)ine. 

Thou wcrt to me a crvstal-^irdcd shrine 

W(irshii)p'd at holy distan<'c, and ai'ound 

Ihdlow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly j^'round; 

Not for thou wert a i)rincess, jjut tliat Love 

Had robed thee with a ylory, and array'd 

Thy linc;imcnts in a beauty that disniay'd — 

Oh ! not disnuiy'tl — but awed, like One above! 

And in that sweet severity there was 

A s()mi'thin^»- whicli all sol'tncss tlid sui7jass — 

I know not jiow— tiiy j^cnius master'd mine — 

!My star stood still before thee :• — if it were 

I'resuiniJtuoiis tinis to love without design, 

Tluit sad fatality hath cost me dear; 

But thou art dearest still, and 1 should be 

Fit for this cell, which wrouy;s me — but for the». 



IS'2 THE LAMEXT OF TASSO. 

Tlio vcvv love wlii<'li lock'tl me to my cliain 
Until lidilfiiM iKilf ils wi'iuht; iiml 'for ilio rest, 
Tliouuh lioavv, lent me vif^or to su-.t;iiii, 
Ami look to thee with uiuliviiled breast, 
Aiul foil the insjeiuiitv of ruin. 



It is no mai'vel — from my very birth 

^ly soul was <lriiiik with love — wbieh did pervade 

And minv;le with wbate'er 1 saw on earth; 

Of objeets all inanimate 1 made 

Idols, and out of wild and lonely tlowcrs, 

Ami rocks, whereliy tliey irrcw, a paradise, 

"Where I did lay me down within the shade 

Of wavinu' trees, and dream'd unconiitH'd hours, 

Tlioiii:!! I was clud I'or wandering-; and liie Wise 

Shook their while a>^ed lieads o'er me, and said 

Of sueh materials wretehed men were made, 

And sneii a truant i>ov would end in woe. 

And that the only lesson was a bhrtv ; 

And tiien they siiiote nie, and I did not weep, 

But eiu'sed them in my heart, and to my liannt 

IJeturn'd and ^\e|>l alone, and ilream'd aj;aiu 

The \ isituis which arise without a sleei>. 

And with my years my soul beuan to pant 

"With feelinjis'of strange tumult and soft pain; 

And the whole heart exhaled into One Want, 

Hut iindctincd and waiiderinir, till the day 

1 found the tliinu- 1 son.uht— and that was thee; 

And then 1 lost my bein;;' all to be 

AbsorbM in thine — the world was pass'd away — 

T/ioK didst anuiliilaie the earth to nie 1 

vn. 
I loved all Solitude— but little thono-ht 
To siH'ud 1 know not what i>f lil'e, remote 
From all eommunion with existence, save 
The maniac and liis tyrant; — had I l>eeu 
Their t'ellow. many years ere this had seen 
M\- mind like theirs corrupted to its i;rave, 
l>ut >\bo bath seen me writhe, or heard me rave ? 
l*erehance in such a cell we sutVer more 
Than the wreek'd sailor on his desert shore: 
The world is all before him — iiihir is firrc. 
Scarce twice the space they must accord mj- bier. 
AVhai though /"' perish, lie may lift bis eye 
And with a dyini;- ulance n]ibraid the sky — 
1 will not raise my own in siu'li reproof, 
Althouiih 'tis eloiided by my duugeou roof. 

VIll. 

Yet ilo 1 feel at times \u\ mind decline. 
Hut with a sense of its decay : — 1 see 
I'nwonied liulits aloiii;' my (irison shine. 
And a stranue demon, who is vexini;' me 
^\■ith pilferini;' pranks and petty i>ains, beUnv 



Tin: LAMEST OF TASSO. Igg 

Tho fecliiitj oC llic licnlllil'iil iirid the free; 
]}iit- iiiiicli to Oiii', who lim;,'' li:ilh siiIUmM so, 
f^ii-knc-is of liciii-(, hikI imrrowiii'SH oC |)l;ic(;, 
Ami nil llmt iiiiiy he lioriu% or oiiii dciiiise. 
1 llioii;^'lit. iiiini^ ciiciiiici IiikI been liiil. Man, 
iJul spii'its iiiiiy III' li'ii;;ii('i| with lliciii -nil l'',iirlli 
Almniloiis -llciivcn rorj^cls mk ; — in llic deurlli 
Of siK^Ji ilcl'i'iii-c llir I'owi'i's of V.sW ciiii, 
]t, iii.'iy lie, tciiipt luf t'lirllicT - jiiid prcviiil 
A;:!iiiist tlic outworn ciciiliirc tlic}' iissiiil. 
Why in this liirniicc is my spirii provcil 
Jjik(! sti'cl in tunipcriii;,'- Wvi: i — hcciiiiNc I lovod ? 
Hi'CMUsc I lo\((l \vli;it not to love, iind sec, 
W'lis nioi'i' or less ih.'in nioit.nl, iind lli.in nic. 



1 onfc W1I.S ((iiick in Ccclin;^'— f lini is oNt;— 
My .sciii-s iii'c cMJlons, or | should hiivc diisli'd 
My hriiin iijiuiiisl these burs, lis IIk! sun Ihisli'd 
In mockery throu;;h tJK'm ; If I beiir iind bore 
'I'he nineh I liiive reeoiinle(l, and the more 
Which hiith no words, — 'tis thid, I wonid not die; 
And sanction with self-shui^;ht(!r the (hdl lie 
Which snared mc here, and with the brand of shanio 
Stamp Madness deep into my mctmory, 
And woo ('oni|iMssion to a. bli;;hlc<l name, 
Sealin;^' the sentence wliii'h uw foes proclaim. 
]S'o — it shall be immortal ! and I make 
A future templ(! of my present coll, 
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake. 
While thou, l''errara ! wlicni no lon^^cr dwell 
1"he ducal chiefs within thee, shall fall down, 
And criMublin;,' piecemeal view thy hearlhlcss halls, 
A poet's wreatli shall be thine only crown- 
A poet's (lnn);-eon thy most I'ai- renown, 
A\'hili' stran^^crs wander o'er tliy unpeopled walls! 
Anil thou, Leonora! — tiioii — who wert ashamed 
'J'hat such as I could love — wlio hlusli'il to hear 
To h'ss than monarehs that thoii eoiddsl, be di iir, 
(Jo! tell thy brother, that my heart, untamed 
]{y j;rief, years, weariness and it nniy bi; 
A taint ol that Ik; would impute to me, 
l''rom Ion;,' infection of u den like this, 
A\'licr(r till! mini! rots con^^cnial with \\\v. abyss- 
Adores thee still; — and add — that when the lowcrd 
And baltlennmls whi<'h ^iiard his joyous hours 
Of ban(|net, dance, and revel are foi'^^ot, 
()!• left untended in a <hdl repose, 
'J'his Ibis -shall be a conscei'ati'd spot ! 
]tut thou — when all tiiat liirth and Ueaiity throws 
Of ina;.ii(; round the(; is extin<-t — shall have 
One half the laurel which o'ershadcs my ;^'ravc. 
Ko power in death can lea.r our names apart, 
As non(; in life coidd rend Ihci! from my heart. 
Yes, lA'onora! it shall bo our fato 
To bo cutwincd for over — but too I»it« 1 



MANFRED: 



A DRAMATIC POEM. 



"There are more things in heaven and earth, lloratio, 
Tkan are dreamt of in your pliilosopliy. " 



©ramatis persona. 



Manfred. 

Chamois Hunter. 

Abbot of St. Maurice. 

Manuel. 

Herman. 



"Witch of the /\xps. 

Arimanes. 

Nemesis. 

The Destinies. 

Spirits, Ac. 



The Scene of the Drama is among the Higher Alps — part';/ t'n the 
Castle of Manfred, and partly in the Mountains. 



184 



MANFRED. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

Majtfred alone. — Scene, a Gothic Gallery. — Time, Michiiglit 

Man. The lamp must be vcplenisli'd, hut even then • 

It will not Imrii so lonir as I must watch : 
]Sry shuiihcrs — if I sUimhcr — are not sleep, 
But a cDntinuanC'u of endurinfr tliouprht, 
W'liich then I can resist not: in my heart 
There is a vij;il, and these eyes but close 
To look within; and yet I live, and bear 
The aspect and the form of breathing' men. 
But grief should be the instructor of the wise ; 
Sorrow is knowledge : they who know the most 
Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth. 
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. 
Philosophy and science, and the springs 
Of wonder, and the wisdom of the world, 
I have essay'd, and in my mind there is 
A power to make these subject to itself — 
But they avail not : I have done men good, 
And I have met with good even among uien — 
But this avail'd not : — Good, or evil, life, 
Powers, ]iassions, all I sec in other beings. 
Have been to me as rain unto the sands. 
Since that all-nameless hour. I have no dread. 
And feel the curse to have no natural fear, 
Nor tiuttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes, 
Or lurking love of something on the earth. — 
Now to my task. — 

Mysterious Agency ! 
Ye spirits of the unbounded Universe ! 
Whom I have sought in darkness and in light — 
Ye, who do compass earth about, and dwell 
In subtler essence — ye, to whom the tops 
Of mountains inaccessible are haunts, 
And earth's and ocean's caves familiar things — 
I call upon ye by the written charm 

Which gives mc power upon you Rise ! appear! 

[A patcse. 
185 



ISt; MAXFIiED. [Aori. 

Th(\v ("(nno not yot. — Now I)y tlio voice of liim 
AVho is llic lirsl'iuiion!:- von — liy this aigw, 
Wliicli iiiiiki's you ir('iiii>U — hy tlu> claim?' of nfm 

A\ lio is iiiulyiii'j;' — llisc! iippoar! Apiu-iu ! 

, jA /'m**?. 

If it l)c so. — Siiirits of earth iiiul air, 
\o shall not thus eliido mo: by a |iowcr 
l)cciHM- lliau all yi't iir^'cd, a tymiit-s\icll, 
Which liad its hirihiilacc in a sta.- comlcinnM, 
The luirniiiL;' wreck of a ilciiiolisiiM woiiil, 
A waiKlcriiii;' hell in the ctci'ual space; 
J\v the stroll;; eursi> which is upon my sonl, 
Tlie tliou<^ht which is within lue ami around me, 
1 do compt'l ye to my will. — .Vppear! 

[A star is seen nt the darker end of t/ir (inllvy : i.t U. 
stationary ; and a voice is heard sinyiny. 

First Sttrit. 
ISIortal! to thy hiddiii^- bow'd, 
9 J''roin mv iiKiusioii in tht^'lond, 

Mhich the breath of twili.uln builds, 
And the snmnu'i's sunlight ^ihls 
\\ ilh the a/uri' and vermilion, 
W hich is luixM for my iia\ilion; 
Though thy tpiest may be tVubidden, 
()n a star-beam 1 have ridden; 
To thine adjuration bow'd, 
Mortal! be thy wish «vt)w'd! 

Voice of the SiccoNU SriiuT. 
Mont Blanc is tiie monarch of mountains: 

Thev crown'd him lon>i' a^o 
()n a t'lirone of ro(^Us, in ii robe of clouds, 

AN'ith a diadem of snow. 
Around bis waist are forests br.'icod, 

'i'lic .\v!ilanclK' in bis band; 
l>ul ere il fall, that thnndcriiiii ball 

Must panse for my I'ommand. 
The ti'lacicr's cold and resiless nuiss 

Mo\ es onward day by day ; 
lint 1 am he who bills it pass, 

Or with its ice delay. 
1 am the spirit of the |>lace, 

( \>iild make tiie luouutain l>o\V 
And (luiver to ids caverii'd basi> — 

And what with mo wonldst Thottf 

I'oice of the Tiiiun Spirit. 
In the blue depth of tlio waters. 

NVhero the wave hath no strile, 
AVhere the wind is a stranuer, 

And the si'M-snake bath life, 
Where the Mermaid is dicking' 

llor irrei'ii hair with sliells; 
Like the storm on the surfiiee 

Owiie tJio .sound of thy spoils; 



8CKNE I.] MAXFIU:/). i^-j 

O'er my culm Ilall of Coral 

'i'lic (lui-|) t'clio roll'd — 
To llio Spirit, of Oci'iui 

Thy wishes itiifokl ! 

Fot;i{tii Si'iuit. 
Where tin; shmihcriii;,'' ('aith(iiiakc 

Lies piliowM on iire, 
And the lakes of l)itiimen 

Rise hoiliii^iy hif,r]ier; 
AVhcrc (he i-oois of iho Andes 

Sli-ikc (k'c|i in (hi' carlh, 
As Ihcir siiMiniits to lieavea 

Nliool so;irin;^ly foi'lh ; 
1 have (|Mil(cd ni'v liirlliplacc, 

Thy hicldiii;^- |o hidi — 
Tiiy spell hatli sulxliied me, 

Thy will he my ;;iiide ! 

I'll'TII Si'IltlT. 
I am the Rider of (he wind, 

The Stirrer of the stoi'ni ; 
The hui'ricane I left iiehinil 

Is yet with li^liliiinji' warm; 
To speed to llicc, o'er shore and sea 

I swept, upon (he hlast : 
The lleel I met sail'd well, and yet 

'Twill sink ere niyiit l)e past. " 

Sixth Sim kit. 
My dwelling-- is the shadow of the iiii;li(. 
Mliy (lo(,h thy ma^'ie torture me with lii;lit? 

Skventii Spikit. 
The star whieh rules thy destiny 
Was rilled, ere earth heji'an, iiy'me: 
It was a world as fresh and f:i,ir 
As e'er revolved round snn in air; 
Its eoursc! was free and i'e;;id,ir, 
Spare hosom'd not, a lovelier sta,r. 
'I'lie lioiir arrived— and it hecanii^ 
A wanderin;.'- mass of shapeless llamo, 
A pathless eomet, and a eursc, 
'i"he menace of the universe: 
Still ro!iiiij,r (),, witii innal(! force, 
Without, a sphci-e, without a course, 
A hri^iiit deformity on hi;;ii, 
The monster of llie upper sky ! 
And thou ! heneath its induence horn — 
Thou worm ! wliom 1 ohcy an<l .scorn — 
Forced hy a power (which is not thine, 
And lent thee hut to make thee mine) 
I'or this hrit^f moment to descend, 
Where these weak spirits round tlieo hend 
And parley with a thinji' like thee— 
What woiddst thou. Child of Clay ! with mc ? 



188 MANFRED. [act u 

The Seven Spirits. 
Earth, ocean, air, nifiht, mountains, winds, thy star. 

Are at thy beck and bidding, C'liild of Clay ! 
Before thee at thy quest their spirits are — 

What wouklst "thou with us, son of mortals — say ? 

Man. Forgetfulness 

First Spirit. Of what — of whom — and why ? 

Man. Of that which is within me ; read it there — 
Ye know it, and 1 cannot utter it. 

Spirit. We can but give tiiee that which we possess : 
Ask of us subjects, sovereignty, the power 
O'er earth, the whole, or portion, or a sign 
Which shall control the elements, whereof 
We are the doniinators, each and all. 
These shall be thine. 

Man. Oblivion, self-oblivion — 

Can ye not wring from out the hidden realms 
Ye o'lfer so profusely what I ask ? 

Spirit. It is not in our essence, injaur skill ; 
But — thou luay'st die. 

Man. Will death bestow it on me ? 

Spirit. Wc are immortal, and do not forget; 
We are eternal, and to us the past 
Is as the future, present. Art thou answer'd ? 

Man. Ye mock me — but the power which brought ye here 
riath made you mine. Slaves, scotf not at my will ! 
The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark, 
The lightning of my being, is as bright. 
Pervading, and far-darting as your own. 
And shall not 3-icld to yours, though coop'd in clay ! 
Answer, or I will teach you what I am. 

Spirit. We answer as we answer'd ; our reply 
Is even in thiue own words. 

Man, Why say ye so ? 

Spirit. If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours, 
We have replied in tclhng thee, the thing 
Mortals call death hath nought to do with us. 

Man. I then have call'd ye from your realms in vain ; 
Ye cannot, or ye will not, aid me. 

Spirit. Say ; 
What we possess we offer ; it is thine : 
Bethink ere thou dismiss us, ask again — 
Kingdom, and sway, and strength, and length of days 

Man. Accursed ! what have I to do with days ? 
They are too long already. — Hence — begone ! 

Spirit. Yet pause : being here, our will would do thee 
service ; 
Bethink .thee, is there then no other gift 
Which we can make not worthless in thine eyes ? 

Man. No, none; yet stay — one moment, ere we part — 
I wouhl behold ye face to i'ace. I hear 
Your voices, sweet and melancholy sounds, 
As music on the waters ; and I see 
The steady aspect of a clear large star ; 



SCENE I.] MANFRED. 



189 



But nothinfj more. Approach me as ye are, 
Or one, or nil, in your accustom'd forms. 

Spirit. We have no forms beyond the elements 
Of whieli we are the minil and principle : 
But choose a form — in that we will appear. 

Man. I have no choice ; there is no form on earth 
Hideous or beautiful to me. Let him, 
\\\\o is most powerful of ye, take such aspect 
As unto him may seem most fitting- — Come ! 

Seventh Spirit. [Appearing in the shape of a beautiful 
female figure.) Behold! 
, ^icn- O God ! if it be thus, and thou 

Art not a madness and a mockery, 
I yet niig'ht be most happy. I will clasp thee. 

And we ayaiu will be [The figure vaiiishes. 

My heart is crush'd. 

[Manfred falls senseless. 
A voice is heard in the Incantation which folloios. 
When the moon is on the wave. 

And the glow-worm in the grass, 
And the meteor on the grave, 

And the wisp on the morass ; 
When the falling stars arc shooting. 
And the answer'd owls are hooting, 
And the silent leaves are still 
In the shadow of the hill, 
IS hall my soul be upon thine, 
With a power and with a sign. 

Though thy slumber may be deep. 

Yet thy spirit shall not sleep ; 

There are shades which will not vanish, 

There are thoughts thou canst not banish ; 

By a power to thee unknown. 

Thou canst never be alone ; 

Thou art wrapt as with a shi'oud, 

Thou art gathcr'd in a clouil ; 

And for ever thou shalt dwell 

In the spirit of this spell. 

Though thou seest me not pass \>y, 
Thou shalt feel me with thine eye 
As a thing that, though unseen, 
Must be near thee, and hath been ; 
And when in that secret dread 
Thou hast turu'd around tliy head. 
Thou shalt nuirvcl I am not 
As thy shadow on the spot, 
And the power which thou dost feel 
Shall be what thou must conceal. 
And a magic voice and verse 
Ilath baptized thee with a curse; 
And a spirit of the air 
Hath begirt thee with a snare : 
In the wind there is a voice 
Shall forbid thee to rejoice ; 



190 MANFRED. [act i. 

And to tlicc shall Ni^fht deny 
All Ihc (|iiiol (if her sky; 
All flic il;iy shall have a sun, 
Which shall make thee wish it clone. 

Fiom thy false tears I did distil 

An essence which hath strength to kill; 

From thy own heart I then did wring: 

The l)lack hlooit in its blackest spring; 

From thy own smile I snaleiiM the snake, 

For there it coil'd as in a brake ; 

From thy own lip I drew the charm 

Which gave all these their chietest harm ; 

In proving every poison known, 

I Ibiuid the strongest was thine own. 

By thy cold breast and serpent smile, 

P.y thy unl'athom'd gull's oi' guile, 

]}y that most seeming virtuous eye, 

By thy shut soul's hypociisy; 

l>y the perlection of thine art 

M'hich pass'd for human thine own heart; 

l>y thy delight in others' ))ain, 

Anil by thy brotlierhood of Cain, 

I call upon thee ! and compel 

Thyself to he thy proper Hell ! 

And oil thy head I pour the vial 

^^'bich doth ilcvote thee to this trial; 

Nor to slumber, nor to die, 

Shall he in thy destiny; 

Though thy death shall still seem near 

To thy wish, but as a fear; 

Lol the spell now works around thee. 

And the clankless chain hath bound thee; 

O'er thy heart and brain together 

llath the word been pass'd — now wither! 

SCENE II. 

The Mountain of the Jungfrmt. — Time, Morning. — Manfred (done 
upon the Clijf's. 
Man. The spirits I have raised abandon me — 
The spells which I have studied baffle me — 
The remedy 1 reek'd of tortnred me ; 
I lean no more on superhuman aid, 
It hath no )io\vci- upon the past, and for 
The futiu'c, till the jiast be gulf 'd in darkness. 
It is not of my search. — ]M y mother Earth 1 
And thou fresh breaking Day, and you, ye Mountains, 
Why are ye beautiful ? 1 cannot love ye. 
And thou, the bright eye of the universe, 
That openest over all, and unto all 
Art a delight — thou shin'st not on my heart. 
And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge 
1 staiul, and on the torrent's brink beneath 
Behokl the tall pines dwindled as to shrubs 



f'CENE 11.] MANFRED. \^\ 

In dizziness of distance; when a leap, 

A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring 

My l)i'aasl upon its rocky bosom's bed 

To rest I'or ever — wherefore do I pause ? 

I feel tiie impulse — yet I do not plunye ; 

I sec the peril — yet do not recede ; 

And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm : 

There is a power upim me which withholds, 

And makes it my fataiity lo live; 

jf it he life to wear williiu myself 

"■J'his liarrenness of si)iril, ami to l)e 

My own soul's sepulchre, foi- I have ceased 

To justil'y my deeds unto myself — 

The last infirmity of vvW. Ay, 

Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, 

{An eagle passes. 
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, 
Well may st thou swoop so near me — I shoidd be 
Thy pi'cy, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone 
Where the eye cannot follow thee; but thine 
Yet pierces downward, onward, or above, 
With a pervading vision. — IJeautifid! 
How beautifid is all this visil)lc workl ! 
How glorious in its action and itself! 
But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, 
Half dust, half deity, alike unfit 
To sink or soar, witli our mix'd essence, make 
A conflict of its elements, and breathe 
The l)reath of degradation and of pride, 
Contending with low wants anil lofty will. 
Till our mortality predominates. 
And men arc — what they name not to themselves, 
And trust not to each other. Hark ! the note, 

[The S/iepherd'x pipe in the distance is heard. 
The natural music of the mountain reeil— 
For here the patriarchal days arc not 
A pastoral l'al)le — pipes in the liberal air, 
Mix'd with the sweet liells of the sauntering herd; 
ISl_y soul would drink those echoes. — Oh that I ware 
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, 
A living voice, a breathing harmony, 
A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying 
With the blest tone which made me ! 

Enter from below a Chamois Hunter. 

Chamois Hunter. Even so. 

This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet 
Have baffled me; my gains to-day will scarce 
Itcpay my break-neck travail. — What is here ? 
Who seems not of my trade, and yet hath reach'd 
A height which none even of our mountaineers, 
Save our best hunters, may iittain : his garb 
Is goodly, his mien manly, and his air 
I'roud as a free-born peasant's, at this distance — 
I will approach him nearer. 

Man. \not perceiviny the other. ~) To be thus — 



192 MA y FRED. [actl 

Ciray-liair'd witli an<i:uish, like those blasted pines, 

"Wrecks of a siiiij;le winter, liarkless, branchless, 

A bliuhteil trunk upon a cursed root, 

"Which hut suiiplies a I'eclinu- to decay — 

And to he thus, eternally hut thus, 

Ilaviuu' been otherwise ! Now t'urrow'd o'er 

With wrinkles, plou^li'd liv nioiuents, not liy j-cars 

And hours — all tortured into a_iies — hours 

Which I outlive! — Ye toppling- craj^'s of ice! 

Yc avalancJies, wlioni a i)rcath draws down 

In mountainous o'erwhehninf^', come and crush mc ! 

1 hear ye momently altove, beneath. 

Crash with a iVi'quent contliet ; but ye pass. 

And only fall on thiuf^s that still would live; 

On the yonnn' lloui'ishiuj;- forest, or the hut 

And hamlet of the harndess villager. 

C. Ilun. The mists benin to rise fi'om up the valley; 
I'll warn him to descend, or lie may chance 
To lose at once his way and life toj^ether. 

Man. The mists boil up aiounn^the glaciers; clouds 
Rise curling fast beneath me, white and sulphury, 
Like foam from the roused ocean of deep llell, 
"Whose every wave breaks on a living' shore, 
Heap'd witli the damn'd like iiebblcs. — I am giddj'. 

C. Ilidi. 1 must approach him cautiously; if near, 
A sudden step will startle him, and he 
Seems tottering already. 

Man. Monntains have fallen, 

Leaving a gap in the clouds, and with the shock 
Hocking their Alpine brethren; tilling up 
The ripe green valleys with destruction's splinters; 
Danuning the rivers with a. sudden dash, 
Which crush'tl th(! waters into mist, anil made 
Their fountains tind another channel — Thus, 
Thus, in its old age, did Mount lloscnberg — 
Why stood I not beneath it ? 

C. Ilun. Friend ! have a care 

Your next step may be fatal : — for the love 
Of Ilim who made you, stand not on that brink ! 

Man. {not hearing him.) Such would have been for me a 
fitting tond) ; 
^ly bones had then been quiet in their depth : 
They had not then been strewn upon the rocks 
For the wind's pastime — as thus — thus they shall be — 
In this one plunge. — Farewi'll, ve opening hetivens ! 
Look not u]ion me thus reproaclifully — 
You were not uie;uit for me — Earth ! take these atoms ! 

[As ]\rANFRED is in act to spring from the cliff, the Chamois 
HuNTEU seizes and retains him with a sudden grasp . 
C. Ilun. Hold, madman ! — though aweary of thy life. 
Stain not our pure vales with thy guilty blood — 

Away with me 1 will not quit my hold. 

Man. I am most sick at heart — nay, grasp Eie not — 
I am all feebleness — the mountains whirl 
Spiuuiug around me 1 grow blind "What art thou ? 



s( i:ne I.] MANFRED. 193 

C. TJun. Y\\ answer tliat anon.— Away with inc 

The clouds frrow Ihifkcr tlicre— now le:iii on mc— 

Phice your loot, lierc— Iktc, liik(t this stall', mid clin;,^ 
A moniont, to that sliruh — now ^;ivu nie your hanil, 
And hold I'ast by my girdle— sol'tly— well — 
'J'lie Chalet will' he j^ainM within an hour — 
Conu! on, we'll (luickly lind a surer lootiui;-. 
And sonielhin;;- like a'pathway, whieh the torrent 
llath wash'd since winter.— (Jonie, 'tis liravely done — 
You should have been a hunter.— Follow nie. 

[/l.v titcy descend the rocks loith dijjicultij, the scene closes 



ACT II. 

SCENE r. 
A Cottage among the Bernese /I //;«.— Manfred and the Chamois 

IIUNTEU. 

C. 11)111. No, no— yet pause — thou must not yet go forth : 
Thy mind and l)oily are alike unfit 
To"trust eac'h oilier, lor some hours at least; 
^Vllen thou .art better, I will l)e thy guide- 
IJiit whither } 

Man. It imports not : I do know 

Mv route full well, and need no fiirtlier guidanec. 

6'. Hun. Thy garb and gait bespeak thee of high lineage — 
One of the many chiefs, whose eastled crags 
I^ook o'er the lower valleys — which of these 
INIav call thee lord ? I only know their portals ; 
]\Iy wav of life leads me but rarely down 
To l>ask liy the huge hearths of those old halls, 
Carousing" with the vassids; but tlie paths 
W'liich steji from out our mountains to their doors, 
I know from chiliiliood— wliif'h of these is tliine ^ 
Man. No matter. 

C. llun. Well, sir, pardon mc the ([uestioa, 

And he of belter clieer. Come, taste my wine ; 
'Tis of an aiieicait viiil;igc : many a day 
'Thas thaw'd my veins among our glacier.s, now 
Let it do thus for tliine.- (Jome jilcdge me fairly. 

Man. Away, away! there's blood upon Ihe l)riin! 
Will it then never-never sink in the earth ? 

6*. //M/(.What(lost thou mean? thy senses wander from thee. 
Man. I say 'tis l)lnod — my blood! Ilu^ piu'c warm stream 
Which ran in the vins of my fatliers, and in ours 
When we were in oiiiyoulii, and iiad one ijcart. 
And loved c^ach other as we should not love, 
And this was shed : iiut still it rises up, 
Coloring the clouds thai shut me out from heaven, 
Where thou art not— and I shall never be. 

<'. I fun. Man of si riiiigc words, and some half-mii.ddcuing sin, 
M'hicli makes tiicc i)eople vacancy, whate'er 
Thy dread and suHeranee be, there's comfort yet— 

Tlie aid of holy men, ami heavenly patience 

Man. ralienCc ;iii(l patience! Hence— that word was made 
For brutes of i)uiden, not for birds of prey; 
13 



194 MAX FRED. [act II. 

Preach it to mortals of a dust like thine — 
I am not of thine order. 

C. Huh. Thanks to Heaven ! 

I would not he of tliine for the free fame 
Of William Tell : but whatsoe'er thine ill, 
It must be home, and these wild starts are useless. 

Man. Do I not bear it ? — Look on me — I live. 

C. Hitn. This is convulsion, and no healtlifid life. 

Man. I tell thee, man ! 1 have lived many years, 
Many lonj;- years, hut they arc nothing now 
To those which I must numljcr : ages — ages — 
Space and eternity — and consciousness, 
With the fierce thirst of death — and still unslaked ! 

C. Jliin. Why, on thy brow the seal of middle age 
ILith scarce been set ; I am thine elder far. 

Man. Tliink'st thou existence doth depend on time ? 
It doth ; but actions are our epochs : mine 
Have made my days and nights imperishal)le. 
Endless, and all alike, as sands on the shore, 
Innumerable atoms ; and one desert. 
Barren and cold, on which the wild waves break, 
But nothing rests, save carcasses and wrecks. 
Rocks, and the salt-surf weeds of bitterness. 

C. Httn. Alas ! he's mad — but yet I must not leave him. 

Man. I would I were — for then the things 1 sec 
Would he but a distemper'd dream. 

C. Hun. What is it 

That lliou dost see, or think thou look'st upon ? 

Man. Myself, and thee — a peasant of the Alps — 
Thy humble virtues, liospitalile home. 
And spirit patient, pious, proud, and free; 
Thy sclf-rcsi>ect, grafted on innocent thoughts; 
Thy days of health, and nights of sleep ; thy toils, 
I5v danger dignified, yet guiltless ; hopes 
Of cheerful old age and a quiet grave, 
Witli cross and garland over its green turf, 
And thy grandchildren's love for epitaph; 
This do I see — And then I look within — 
It matters not — my sold was scorch'd already ! 

C.\ Iliin. And wouldst thou then exchange thy lot for mine ? 

Man. Xo, friend I I would not wrong thee, nor exchange 
My lot with living heing : I can bear — 
However wretchedly, 'tis still to bear — 
In life what others could not brook to dream, 
But ]icrish in their slumber. 

C. Iliin. And with this — 

This cautious feeling for another's pain. 
Canst thou be black with evil ? — say not so. 
Can one of gentle thoughts liave wreak'd revenge 
Upon his enemies ? 

Man. Oh ! no, no, no ! 

ISIy injuries came down on those who loved me — 
On those whom I best loved : I never (piell'd 
An enemy, save in my just defence — 
But my embrace was fatal ! 

C. Ilun. Heaven give thee rest ! 



SCB.TVJ II.] MAXFRED. 1<J5 

\n<\ penitence restore thee to thyself: 
My jn-aycrs shall be for thee. 

Man. 1 need them not, 

But can endure thy pity. I depart — 
'Tis tiuic — farewell ! — llerc's f^'old and thanks for thee — 
No words — it is thy due. — Follow mc not, 
I know my patii — the mountain peril's ])ast: — 
And ouceagaiu, 1 cliarge tlioe, follow not ! 

[Exit Manfued, 

SCENE II. 

A hxoer Valley in the Alps. — A Cataract. 
Enter Manfred. 
It is liot noon — the sunbow's rays still arch * 
The torrent with the many hues of heaven, 
And roll the sheeted silver's wavin<>- column 
O'er the cran-'s heiidlonf::' perpendicular, 
And ilin;^- its lines of foaming light along, 
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, 
The (,<iant steed, to he bestrode by Death, 
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes 
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness; 
I shoukl be sole in this sweet solitiulc. 
And with the Spirit of the place divide 
Tlie homage of these waters. — I will call her. 

[^Manfckd fn/iPS some of the water into (lie palm of ?ii.i 
hand, and flings it in the air, muttering tin- adjanition. 
After a panne, the VV'iTCil OF THE Ali'S risen beneath 
the arch of the sunboto of the torrent. 

Beautiful Spirit ! with thy hair of light. 

And dazzling eyes of glory, in wiiose form 

The chariHS ofeartli's least mortal daughters grow 

To an unearthly stature, in an essence 

Of purer elements; while the hues of youth — 

Carnation'd like a sleei)iug infant's check, 

Rock'd by the beating of her mother's licart. 

Or the rose lints, which summer's twilight leaves 

Upon the lofty glacier's virgin snow. 

The blush of earth, embracing witii lier licavcn — 

Tinge tliy celestial aspect, and make tame 

The beauties of the sunbow which bimds o'er thee. 

Beautiful Spirit ! iu thy calm clear brow, 

AVhercin is glass'd serenity of soid. 

Which of itself shows immortality, 

I read that thou wilt pai'ilon to a Son 

Of ICarth, whom Iheabstruser jjowers permit 

At times to commune witli them — if that ho 

Avail him of Ins spells — to call thee thus. 

And gaze on thee a moment. 

Witch. Son of Earth! 

I know thee, and the powers which give thee power; 

I know thee for a man of many tlioughts, 

* This Iris is fnrinod l),v the rnys of tlio sun over tlio lower part of tlio Alpiiin 
torrents; It Is exactly like a rainlxiw eome <lo\vii to i)ay a visit, uiul so close that 
yju uiay walk into it. This elluct lusts till iiouii. 



196 MAXFRED. [act ii. 

And deeds of pood and ill, extreme in both, 

Fatal and I'uteil in tliy sulVeriii^s. 

I have cxpeelcd this— what wouldst thou with me ? 

Man. I'd look \\\Kn\ thy beauty — nothing further. 
The faee of the earth hath niaddini'd nie, anil 1 
Take refujje in her mysteries, and pieree 
To the abodes of those who jroveru her — 
But they can nothing aiil me. I have sought 
From tlicm what they eould not bestow, and now 
I seareh no further. 

Witrh. What could be the quest 

Whit'h is not in the power of the most powerful. 
The rulers of the nivisiblc ? 

Man. A boon ; 

But why should I repeat it? 'twere iu vain. 

Witch. I know not that; let thy lii)s utter it. 

Hi/iu. "\\'ell, though it torture me, 'tis but the same; 
!My (lang shall find a voice. From my youth upwards 
!MV spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, 
Kor h)ok'd upon the earth with human eyes; 
The thirst of their ambition was not mine, 
The aim of their existence was not mine; 
;My joys, my griefs, my passions, anil my powers, 
Millie me a stranger; thougli I wore the form, 
I had no sympathy with i)reathing llesh, 
Nor 'midst the creatures of clay that girded mc 

Was there but one, who but of her anon. 

I said, with meu, and with the thoughts of men, 

I held but slight communion; but instead, 

]SIy jov was in the M'ildcrncss, to breathe 

The dithcult air of the iced mountain's top, 

"Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's wing 

Flit o'er the herblcss granite ; or to plunge 

Into the torrent, and to roll along 

On the swift whirl of the new In-eaking wave 

Of river-stream, or ocean, in their llow. 

In these my early strength cxultetl ; or 

To follow through the night the moving moon, 

The stars and thcii' ileveloiMueut ; or catch 

The dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim; 

Or to look, list'ning, on the scatter'd leaves, 

A\'lule Autumn w'inds were at their evening song. 

These wei-e my pjistimes, and to be alone; 

For if the beings, of whom 1 was one — 

Hating to be so — cross'd me in my path, 

I felt myself degi-aded back to thcni, 

And was all clay again. And then I dived. 

In my lone wanderings, to the caves of death. 

Searching its cause in its clVect ; and drew 

From witiier'd bmies, anil skulls, and heap'd up dust. 

Conclusions most forliidden. Then I pass'd 

Tlie nights of years in sciences untaught, 

Save in the old" time; and with time and toil, 

And terrible ordeal, and such penance 

As in itself hath jiower upon the air, 

And spirits that do compass air and earth, 



8CEXE II.] MANFRED. 1^)7 

Space, and the ppojilcd infinite, I made 

Mine eyes familiar with Ktoriiity, 

Sucli as, Ix'l'orc nic, (li<l the Ma;;i, and 

lie who from out tlicir fountain dwellinf^s raised 

J'A'O'i ;uid Anteros,* at, (iadaia, 

As I do tlu'c; — and with my knowlcdfi'c j;i-e\v 

Thr (liirst of knowled^^c, and tiie power antl joy 

Of (his most bi-i;^lit intolli;i,''tMiec', until 

Witch. I'roeecd. 

Man. Oil ! I Init tlnis ]irolon;rVl my words, 

Boastinji' tliesc idle attributes, because 

As I approach the core of my heai't's ^rief 

But to my task. I have not named to X\\w. 
Father or molliei-, mistress, friend, or bcinj^. 
With whom I wore the ehain of human ties; 
If I had such, they seein'd not such to me — 
Yet there was ouc 

Witch. Spare not thyself — proceed. 

Man. She was like me in lineaments — her eyes, 
Ilcr hair, her features, all, to the very tone 
p^ven of her voice, they said were like to nunc; 
But soft-cn'd all, and temper'd into beauty : 
She had the same lone thoui^'hts and wanderings, 
The ([uest of hidden knowledne, and a mind 
To comi)rchcnd the universe : nor tliese 
Alone, l)nt with them gentler powers llian mine, 
Pity, and smiles, and tears — which 1 had not; 
And tenderness — but that I had for her; 
Iliimililv — and that I never had. 
Her faults were mine — her virtues were her own — 
I loved her, and dcstroy'd her! 

Witch. With thy hand ? 

Man. Not with my hand, but heart — which l)roke herheai't-^ 
It gazed on mine, and withcr'd. I have shed 
Blood, but not hers — and yet her blood was shed — 
I saw — and could not stanch it. i 

Witch. And for this— 

A being of the race thou dost despise, 
Tiic oi'der whicii ihine own woidd rise above. 
Mingling with us ;ind ours, thou dost forego 
The gifts of our great knowledge, and shrink'st back 
To recreant mortalitv Away ! 

Man. Dauiihter ol' Air! I tell thee, since tliat hour— 
But words are breath — look on me in mv slccji, 
Or watch my watchings — Come and sit "ijy me ! 
My solitud(! is solitude no more, 
But peopled with the Furies; — I have gnash'd 
My teetli in darkness till returning morn. 
Then cursed myself till sunset; — I have [iray'd 
Yw madness as a blessing— 'tis denied mc, 
I have allVonted death — but in the war 
Of clcnu'nts the waters shrunk from mo, 
And iatal things [lass'd harmless — the cold hand 
Of an all-pitiless demon held nic back, 

• Tlio pliilnsoplior .Tnmt)lidis. The .story of tlm niisiiig of EroB and Anteros 
may be fuuiid in his I^ifo Ijy Euiiapius. It is well tulil. 



lOS MAXFurn. [ACT iL 

l»!i('k by ii siiiizlo h;iii', whirh woiiUl not broak. 
1)1 t'aiitasy, iiu:i<;'in!ilioii, all 
Till- atHiuMioo of my soul — which oiu- il;iy was 
A Cru'sus ill crcaliou — 1 plmim'il (Kh'P, 
15iil, like an obltiiii;- wa\ c, il dasliM iiu' back 
liilo the uiill' til' my iiiilalhomM ihonj^hl. 
] phinijoil amidst maiiUiiiil— Furi;i'tl"iiliu"ss 
1 sought in all, save wlu'iv 'tis to lu- I'oniul, 
Anil iliat 1 have to loani — my sciiMU-os, 
!My loiiir i>ni'siioil ami siipiThnimui art, 
Is mortal lioiv — 1 tlwoU in my ilospaii" — 
Anil live — auil live I'or ever. 

ir(7(7(. It may be 

That I ean aiil thco. 

Man. To ilo this, thy iiower 

!Mnst wake the ileail, or lay me low with them. 
Do so--iii any shape — in any hour— 
\\illi any torture — so it he the last. 

IIV/c//. That is not in my iirovinee; but it" thou 
\\'ilt swear obeilienee to my will, ajiil ilo 
ily biiUlinu', it may help thee to thy wishes. 

Man. 1 will not swear — Obey ! ami whom ? the spirit.^ 
"Whoso presence I eommaiul, ami bo tho .slave 
Of those who sorvoil me — >«ever! 

Uitrfi. Is this all? 

llast thou no Rentier nnswor ? — Yet bethink tlioo, 
Ami pause ere thou rojootcst. 

Mnii. I have said it. 

Witch. Enough! — I niav rotirc theu — say! 

]\Lvt. ' ' IJctire! 

[77)0 WtTCii ilisnpyt'ars. 

Man. {alour.) Wo are the fools of time and terror ; days 
Steal on ns and steal from us; yet we live, 
l.oalhluu" our life, and dreadinij still to die. 
In all the days of this dciested yoke - 
This \iial weiu'ht upon the strui^'ulim;' heart, 
AN'hii'h >inks with sorrow, or beats i|uiek with jiain, 
()r joy that ends in iVi-'oiiy or faiiitness — 
In all the days of past and future, for 
In lit"e there is no present, we can number 
How few — how less than few — wherein the soul 
Forbears to pant ("or death, and yet draws back 
As from a stream in winter, though the chill 
l?o but a moment's. 1 have one resource 
Still in my science — I can call the dead, 
And ask them what it is we dread to be: 
The sternest answer can hut be the (Jrave, 
And that is iioihiiiL;— if thev answer not — 
The buricil rrophet aiiswer\l lo the Hay: 
(.)f I'.iidor; and the Spartan Monarch drew 
From the IJyzantiiie maid's unsleopiny spirit 
An answer and his destiuy — he slew 
That which he loved, niikiiowim;- what he slew. 
And died niipardon'd — ihoimh lie call'd in aid 
The Phyxian -love, and iu l'iiii;alia roused 
'J'lie .Vrcadian K\ocalors to coniiiel 



8CICNK III. 



MANFRED. 1 :)9 



'I'hc iinli^nmiil, shiidow to depoHO her wmlli 

Or (i\ her Ici'iii ol vdiiifiMiiicc-Mlu! replied 

III wonis (if iliihioiiM iiii|i(irl, l>iit I'ulfilrd.* 

ir I liiid never liv(M|, Unit, wliieli I love 

ll:id >lill lieeii living,''; liiul I never lov<'(l, 

'I'liiil wliii'ii I love would H(ill l>(! Iieuillirnl - 

ll;ip|iy and t^ivin;^ lia|i|)iiiesM. Wliiit, is she? 

Wlial is sln' MOW ? II, siill'erer I'or my .sins — 

A lliiii^- I diire nol, lliink ii|ion -or nolliin;^. 

\Villiin lew hours I shall nol eiiil in vain — 

Yel in Ihis hour I dread the thin;^' I diiru : 

Until this hour I iKtver shrunk to n'azi! 

On spirit, tiDod or v,v\\ now I lreml)le, 

And leel a slra,ii;4-e eold thaw n|ioii my hear!,. 

liiil 1 e:iii iiei even what I most, ahhor, 

And rii;tMi|ii(in hiiinaii lears. 'I'lie ni;;hl approaelies. [I''.cit. 

HC.y.NK III. 
77(r Slim mil. iif thf JiiiKjfrdU Mounlitiu, 
I'^lUrr Imiiht MiOM'I'INV. 
1'lie inoiiii is risili;;' liroiiil, and roniid, :ind hi'i;;hl ; 
And heic (111 snows, where never Iiiiiiimm loot, 
Ol' eoninioii mortal troil, we nightly tread, 
And leave no traces; o'er the sa,vil(;'e sea, 
'I'lie yliissv ocean of th(! moiinlain iee. 
We sUiiii Its riiH/^ed hri^a.ki'rs, whi(;li put on 
The aspc^et of a 1 iimhlin;^ (einpesl's loani, 
l"ro/en in a monient a, deail whiilpool's iinaji<; : 
And Ihis most steep |'Miil;islic pinnacle, 
The rrelworU of some eartliipiake whirre the elouiLs 
I'linse to repo.se llieinselves in pa.ssin;,( hy — 
Js sacreil t,o onr revels, or our vi^^ils; 
]lere do I wail mv sisters, on onr way 

To the Hall ofAri nes, lor to-lii^hi. 

Is our ^real festival 'ti-i stran;^!: they come not. 
A I'oicf witlioiU, siiu/iiiij. 
The ( 'aptive llsur|)er, 

I liiiTd down IVoin the throni^, 
lyay liiii'ied in lorpor, 

l'or;;otlen and lone ; 
1 l))-oke throii;^h his Hlnmhers, 

I shiver'd his chain, 
I lca^:ued him with numhers — 
I le 's TyiMiil, a;,^aiii ! 
With the hlood of a million he'll answer my care, 
With a nation's desti-iielioii — l»i« ili;;lit and desjiair. 

Second Voice, without. 
'I'he ship sail'd on, the ship Hiiil'd fast, 
lint I left nol a sail, and I left, not a mast ; 
There is not si plank of the hull or tin; deck, 

• Till' Hlorv ol' I'miHiniiiiH, IttiiK of H|iiirlii (who coimiiiiiimIi'iI llic (iii( ks iil I In 
Imlllr III riii'l.'ii, iiliil iil'li'i-wniils piTlslicil lipi' ini itll<'lil|>l In iii'lrav llir t,ii(i-il:i- 
liiiiiihnix). mill I'li'oiili'i', h Inlil In I'liilarrlin Mi'i'ol'Cliiiuii ; mid In Ilic Laconic 
ol ruiisuiililh llii; hoplilDl, 111 lilii ill in:ili)lloii of (jri:ifci!. 



200 MANFRED. [act ii. 

And there is not a wretch to lament o'er his wreck, 

Save one, whom I held, as he swam, by the hair, 

And he was a subject well worthy my care ; 

A traitor on land, and a pirate at sea — 

But I saved him to wreak further havoc for me ! 

FiHST Destixt, ansioering. 

The city lies sleeping,' ; 

The morn, to deplore it, 
May dawn on it weeping : 

Sidlcnly, slowly, 
The black plaouc" tiew o'er it — 

Thousands lie lowly ; 
Tens of thousands shall perish — 

The living shall tiy from 
The sick tliey shall cherish ; 
j But nothing can vanquish 

! Tlie touch that they die from. 

! Sorrow and anguish. 

And evil and dread, ^ 

Envelop a nation — 
The blest are the dead, 
Who see not the sight 

Of tlieir own desolation — 
This work of a night — 
This wreck of a realm — this deed of ray doing — 
For ages I've done, and shall still be renewing! 

Enter the Second and Third Destinies. 

The Three. 
Our hands contain the hearts of men, 

Our footsteps are their graves ; 
We only give to take again 

The spirits of our slaves ! 

Fbst Dcs. Welcome ! — WTiere 's Nemesis ? 
Second Des. At some great work; 

But what, I know not, for my liands were full. 
Third Des. Behold she cometh. 

Enter Nemesis. 

First Des. Say, where hast thou been ? 

My sisters and thj^self are slow to-night. 

Xem. I was detain'd repairing shatter'd thrones, 
Marrying fools, restoring dynasties, 
Avenging men upon their enemies, 
And making them repent their own revenge ; 
Goading the wise to madness ; from the dull 
Shiiping out oracles to rule the world 
Afresh, for they were waxing out of date. 
And mortals dared to ponder for themselves. 
To weigh kings in the balance, and to speak 
Of freedom, the forbidden fruit. — Away ! 
We have outstay'd the hour — mount we our clouds ! 

[Exeunt. 



SCENE IV.] MAXFRED. 201 



The Hall of Arimayies.—Arimanes on Tiis TJirone, a Globe of Fire, 
surrounded by the Spirits. 

Hymn of the Spirits. 
Hail to om- Master!— Prince of Eai-tli and Air! 

Who walks the clouds and waters — in his hand 
The sceptre of the elements, which tear 

Themselves to chaos at his high command I 
He breatheth — and a tempest shakes tlie sea ; 

He speaketh — and the clouds reply in thunder; 
He j;azeth — from his g-lancc the sunbeams Hee ; 

He moveth — earthquakes rend the world asunder. 
Beneath his footsteps the volcanoes rise ; 

His shadow is the Pestilence ; his path 
The comets herald throus'li the crackling skies ; 

And planets turn to ashes at his wrath. 
To him War oilers daily sacrifice; 

To him Death paj's liis tribute ; Life is his, 
"With all its infinite of agonies — 

And his the spirit of whatever is ! 

Enter the Destinies and Nemesis. 

First Des. Glory to Arimanes ! on the earth 
His power increaseth — both my sisters did 
His Indding, nor did I neglect'my dutj- ! 

Second Des. Glory to Arimanes ! we who bow 
The necks of men, liow down before his throne ! 

Third Des. Glory to Arimanes ! we await his nod! 

Xem. Sovereign of Sovereigns ! we arc thine, 
And all that liveth, more or less, is ours, 
And most things wholly so ; still to iuci-case 
Our power, increasing "thine, demands our care, 
And ^^■e arc vigilant.— Thy late commands 
Have been fulfiU'd to the utmost. 

Enter Manfred. 

A Spirit. What is here ? 

A mortal !— Thou most rash and fetal wretch. 
Bow down and worship ! 

Second Spirit. I do know 'the man — 

A Magian of great power, and fearful skill ! 

Third Spirit. Bow down and worship, slave ! — "What, 
know'st thou not 
Thine and our Sovereign ? — Tremble, and obev ! 

Alt the Spirits. Prostrate thj-sclf, and thy condemned clay 
Child of the Earth I or dread the worst. 

^Jnn. I know it ; 

And yet ye see I kneel not. 

Fourth Spirit. 'Twill be taught thee. 

Man. 'Tis taught already ;— many a night on the earth. 
On the hare ground, have I bow'd c\own my face, 
And strcw'd my head with ashes; I have linown 
The fulness of humiliation, for 
I sunk before my vain desjmir, aud knelt 
To mv own desolation. 



)02 MAXFRKD. [act ii. 

Fif't/i Spirit. Doxt tlioii dare 

llelVisi; to Ai'imanos on his tliroiie 
AVliMt (lio wlmlc Oiirth acconls, boholdinp: not 
Tlio U'lTor (if Ills (ilorv ?— Crouch! 1 say. 

Man. liiil /liiii l)(i\v (low n to that whii'h is aliove him, 
The ovornilinL;- liilinili — thi' Makor 
^^ ho iiiado him not lor worship— lot him kneel, 
And we will kneel lojielher. 

T/ic >i/)irit!<. Crnsh the worm ! 

Tear him in pieces! — 

Fimf Drs. Hence! Avannt: — he's mine, 

Prince ol' the Powers invisilile! tl\is mau 
Is iit' no common order, as ins port 
And presence here denote ; his sidlerings 
Have heen ol' an immortal natm-e, like 
Onr own; his knowli'd;^e, and his powers and will, 
As far as is compatilile with clay, 
\\'hich (loci's the ethereal essence, have heen such 
A?' elav hath seldiun home; his aspiratiinis 
lla\e lieen iieyond the dwellers ol' tlji; earth, 
And they have only tauL^hi him what we know — 
Th.at knowledge is not hap|nness, and scieuec 
Hut an exchanue oi' itiiioranee for that 
AX'hieh is another kiiul of ignorance. 
1'his is not all — the ]iassions, attrihutes 
Of earth and iica\en, from which no i)ower, nor hcing, 
Nor breath, from the worm upwards, is c\eniiit, 
Have iiierced his heart; and in their eonseijuencc 
IMade him a thinji', which 1, wlio pity not, 
Yet pardmi those who pity. He is mine. 
And tliiuc, it may he — he it so, or not, 
No other Spirit in this ri'ji'ion hath 
A sold like his — or power upon his soul. 

Xrtii. \\'hat doth he here then ? 

Firxt Dcs. Let him answer that. 

Man. Ye know what I have known; and without power 
I eonld not he ainon^jst ye : hut there are 
I'owers deeper still heyond — I come in ijuest 
(.)f such, to answer nnlo what 1 scclv. 

.\(7«. AN'hat wouldst thou .' 

Mail. Thou eanst not reply to me. 

Call up the dead — my «inestion is for them. 

yon. (iroiit Ariiuanes, doth thy will avouch 
The wishes of this mortsil .' 

Ari. Yea. 

.V<'W. Whom wouldst thou 

I'ncharnel ? 

Man. One without a tomb — call up 



•Astartc. 



Nemesis. 
Shadow ! or Spirit ! 

Wiiatcver thou art, 
Which still .loth inherit 

The whole or a part 
Of the form of thv birth. 

Of the mould of thv elav. 



BCENE IV.] MAVFUIjI). 2o;{ 

Wliicli rcliiniM to tli(! oiirth, 

l{c-ii|i|iciii- to tlic iliiy ! 
IJciir w'liil tlioii Ikh'chI., 

TIk' lii'iirt, 1111(1 the I'oriii, 
And the !is|icct- llioii woicsl 
Kcili'ciii iVom the worm. 
Appriir! - A|i|)fiii-! AiijicMi- ! 
"Who sent tlicc llicri; icciiiircs tlu^i; here. 
[The I'lidiitom r;/"A8TAKTE risen and stands in the midst. 
Man. i':m this ho ilciith ? tlicro's hlooiii upon her check; 
But now 1 HOC it is no livyij,' hin;, 
IJut n stnin^fi! heretic — lik(! the iinnntin'iil rcil 
AV'iiich AiiluiMii iilniits upon the imrishM li'.'d'. 
Jt, N th(! s;uiic! ()(;(ni! Iliiil I Hhoiild (Irciul 
To look upon th(! Hiunc — Astii.i't(! ! -iNo, 
1 I'iinnot .speak to iicr — hut l)i(l licr speiik — 
Forgive mc or eoudeiiiu nic. 

Nemksih. 
By the powcn' whidi luith hrokcn 

"^J'lie f^riive whicii cullirjiU'd llice, 
.Sjiciik to hiui wlio liiilli sookcn, 
Or tiiose who liave cidl d llice. 
Man. Sli(! is silent, 

And iii that silenec I nin inor(! tliiiii iiuswcr'd. 

Nvm. My jiower ext(!nds no I'lirther. I'rinec; of Air! 
It rests willi thee iiIotk; — eoniuiiiud her voice. 
Ari. ,S|)irit — ohey this scejjtre ! 
Xem. Silent still! 

Shi' is not of our ordtn-, I)ut l>elon[:s 
'I'o the oihcr powers. Mortid! thy (juest is vain, 
And we iii'e lialUcd also. 

Mail. Ijiar nic, hi iir uie — 

A'ilarle ! — my heloved ! speak to me : 
I have so niiieh endured — so much endin-e- 
Lonk on me! the <rrav(! hath not elianj;(Mi thee more 
Than I am elian^'ed (or tlii'e. Thou lovedst njc 
'I'lio mneh, as I li>\ed thee: we were not uiadu 
To lorlnre thus eaeh oilier, thouj^di it were 
'J"he deadliest sin to love as we have loved. 
Say that thou loath'st iiiu not. — that I do Ixiar 
'J'liis )>iinisliuient for hoth -that tlioii wilt ho 
One of the l.lrsscd -and that I shall die; 
]"i)r hillirrto all hateful tliin;,'s eonspire 
To hind me in exisli^nec -in a. lile 
^V■llieh niaki'S me shrink froiu immortality — 
A future like the past. I eauuot rest. 
I know not what I ask, nor what I seek : 
J feel hut what thou art — and what I am; 
And I would hear yet onee before I perisli 
'l"he voiee which was my music Sjirak to me! 
For 1 have eall'd oil thee in the still ni^hl, 
Startled the slumbering birds from the hush'd houghs, 
And woke the mountain wolves, and made the caves 
Aeiiuaiuted with thy vainly eelio'd name, 
Which aiiswcrd me — many things auswer'd inc — 



204 MANFRED. [act in. 

yjiirits unci iiion — hut thou wort silent all. 
"ict siicak to mo ! 1 liiivo ontwatcliM the stars, 
And fiazod o'er heaven in vain in search oftliee. 
Speak to uic ! 1 have wander'il o'er the earth, 
And never found thy likeness. — Si)eak to nie ! 
Look on the tiends around — tliey feci for mo : 
1 fear theui not, and feel for tliee alone. — 
tSpeak to me! tlioiiuli it lie in wratli;— but say — 
1 reek not wiiat — Itnt let lue hear thee ouoc — 
Tliis once — once more I 

ritantom of Astarte. Manfred ! 

Man. • Saj' on, say on — 

I live hut in the sound — it is thy voice ! 

Plian. jManfred ! To-nu)rrow ends thine earthly ills. 
Farewell ! 

Man. Yet one word more — am I forj^ivcn ? 

Phan. Farewell ! 

Man. Sav, shall wc meet a<;ain ? 

I'han. ' Farewell ! 

Man. One word for mercy ! Sav, thou lovcst me. 

Phan. Manfred! [The Spirit of AnTMiTE di.saimears. 

Xcni. She's fzoue, and will not l)e recall d ; 

Her words will be fulfill'il. Return to the earth. 

A Spirit, lie is convulsed — Tins is to be a mortal. 
And seek the thinj;s beyond mortalily. 

Anotlwr Spirit. Yet, see, he mastercth himself, and makes 
Ilis torture tribntarv to his will. 
Had he been one ot' us, he would have made 
An awful spirit. 

Ncm. Hast thou further question 

Of our {fre;it sovereigu, or his worshippers ? 

Man. None. 

Xrm. Then for a time farewell. 

Man. Wc meet then ! Where ? On tlie earth ?— 
Even as thou wilt: autl for the <;race accorded 
,1 now depart a debtor. Fare yc well ! 



(Scene closes.) 



[Exit Manfred 



ACT HI. 

SCENE I. 

A Ilall in the Castle of Manfred. — Manfred and Herman. 

Man. ^V^lat is the hoin- ? 

Her. It wants but one till sunset, 

And promises a lovely twilight. 

Man. " Say, 

Are all things so disposed of in tlie tower 
As 1 directed ? 

Her. All, my lord, ai'c ready : 

Here is the key and casket. 

Man. It is well : 

Tiiou ma^'st retire. [Exit IIebmak. 



E 1.] MANFRED. 205 

Man. {alone.) There is a calm upon mc — 

Inexplicable stillness! -whit;!! till now 
])i<l not hclon;; to what I knew of life. 
If tliat I (lid not know philosophy 
'i'o be of all our vanities the niolliest, 
The nu'rest word that ever fool'd the car 
Troni out the schoolman's Jar^fon, 1 should deem 
The ji'olden secret, the sou^rht " Kalon," found, 
And seated in my soul. It will not last, 
I5:it it is well to liave known it, thouji-h but once : 
It hath cular^ied my thou;^lits with a new sense, 
And 1 witliin my l(d)lcts would note down 
Tliat there is such a fceliny. Who is there ? 
Re-enter Hekman. 

Her. My lord, the Abbot of St. Maurice craves 
To greet your presence. 

Enter the Aubot ok St, Mauhice. 

Jihhot. Peace be with Count Manfred 1 

Man. Thanks, holy father! welcome to these walls; 
Thy ju'esence lionors tliem, and blesseth those 
"Who <lwcll within tliem. 

Abbot. Wonld it were so, Connt ! — 

But I would fain confer with thee alone. 

Man. llL'rman, retire. — What would my reverend guest? 

Abbot. Thus, witiiout ))relude : — Age and zeal, my office, 
Anil good intent, nmst plead my privilege; 
Our near, though not acquainted neighborhood, 
]\Iay also be my herald. Rumors strange. 
And of unholy nature, are abroad, 
And Inisy with thy name; a noble name 
Tor centuries : may he who bears it now 
Transmit it unimpair'd ! 

Man. Proceed— I listen. 

Abbot. 'Tis said thon boldest converse with the things 
"Which are forl)idden to the search of man; 
That with the dwellers of the dark abotles. 
The many evil and nnhcavenly spirits 
Whieli walk the valley of the shade of death. 
Thou communcst. I know that with mankind, 
Thy fellows in creation, thou dost rarely 
Exchange thy thoughts, and that thy solitude 
Is as an anchorite's, were it but holy. 

Man. And what are they who do avouch these things ? 

Abbot. My pious brethren — the scared jjcasantry — 
Evcii thy own vassals — who do look on thee 
\\\\\\ most unipiict eyes. Thy life's in peril. 

Man. Take it. 

Abbot. I come to save, and not destroy — 

I would not pry into thy secret soul; 
l)Ut if tiicse things lie sooth, there still is time 
Tor ])enitencc and pity : re<;oncile thee 
With the true church, and through the church to Heaven. 

Man. I hear thee. This is my reply : Whate'er 
I may have l)een, or am, doth rest between 
Hoavcu and myself. — 1 shall not choose a mortal 



20G MAYFRED. [act iu. 

Tc be my mediator. Have I sinn'd 
Aj,^aiiist your ordinances ? prove and punish ! 

Abbot. My son ! I did not speak of punishment, 
But penitence and pardon ; — with thyself 
The choice of such remains — and for the last, 
Our institutions and our strong- belief 
Have given mo power to smooth the path from sin 
To higiier liope and better thoughts ; the first 
I leave to Heaven — " Vengeance is Mine alone ! " 
So saith the Lord, and witli all humbleness 
His servant echoes back the awful word. 

Man. Old man ! there is no power in holy men. 
Nor charm in prayer — nor purifying form 
Of penitence — nor outward look — nor fast — 
Nor agony — nor, greater than all these, 
The innate tortures of that dce|i despair, 
"Which is remorse without the fear of hell, 
But all in ;'ll sufficient to itself 
"Would make a hell of heaven — can exorcise 
From out the unbounded spirit, tlie_quick sense 
Of its own sins, wrongs, sutferanee, and revenge 
Upon itself; there is no future pang 
Can deal that justice on the self-condcmn'd 
He deals on his own soul. 

Abbot. All this is well ; 

For tins will pass away, and be succeeded 
By an auspicious hope, which shall look up 
"With calm assurance to that blessed place, 
"Which all who seek may win, whatever be 
Their earthly errors, so they be atoned : 
And the commencement of atonement is 
The sense of its necessity. — Say on — 
And all our church can teach tl'ioe shall be taught; 
And all we can absolve thee shall be jiardon'd. 

Man. When Home's sixth emperor was near his last. 
The victim of a self-intlicted wound. 
To shun the torments of a public death 
From senates once his slaves, a certain soldier, 
Witli show of loyal pity, would have stanch'd 
The gushinjj throat with his otKcious robe; 
The dying Roman thrust him back, and said — 
Some empire still in his expiring glance — 
" It is too late — is this iidelity ? " 

Abbot. And what of this ? 

Man. I answer with the Roman — 

" It is too late ! " 

Abbot. It never can be so. 

To reconcile thyself with thy own soul, 
And thy own soul with Heaven. Hast thou no hope ? 
'Tis strange — even those who do despair above, 
Yet shape themselves some fantasy on earth, 
To which frail twig they ding, like drowning men. 

Man. Ay — father ! 1 have had those earthly visions 
And noble aspirations in my youth, 
To make my own the mind of other men. 
The cnlightener of nations; and to rise 



SCENE I.] MAXFRED. 207 

I kncv/ not whither— it mifjlit be to fall; 
But fall, even as the iiiountain-cataraet, 
Which liavinjj leapt from its more dazzling height, 
Even in the foaming strength of its abyss, 
(Which casts up misty columns that become 
Clouds raining from the re-ascended skies,) 
Lies low hut mighty still.— But this is past. 
My thoughts mistook themselves. 

Abbot. And wherefore so ? 

il/rtH. I could not tame my nature down; for he 
Must serve who fain would sway — and soothe — and sue — 
And watch all time — and pry into all i)lace — 
And be a living lie — who would become 
A mighty thing amongst the mean, and such 
The mass are ; I disdain'd to mingle with 
A herd, thouu'li to l)e leader — and of wolves. 
The lion is alone, and so am I. 

Abbot. And why not li\e and act with other men ? 

Man. Because my nature was averse from life; 
And vet not cruel ; for I would not make, 
But find a desolation : — like the wind, 
The red-liot breath of the most lone simoom, 
Whicli dwi'Us Init in the desert, and sweeps o'er 
The barren sands which bear no slirubs to blast, 
And revels o'er their wild and arid waves, 
And seeketh not, so that it is not sought, 
But being met is deadly ; such bath been 
The course of my existence ; but there came 
Things in my path which arc no more. 

Abbot. Alas ! 

I 'gin to fear that thou art past all aid 
From me and from my calling; yet so young, 

I still would 

Man. Look on me ! there is an order 

Of mortals on the earth, who do become 
Old in their youth, and die ere middle age. 
Without the violence of warlike death; 
Some ])crishing of pleasure — some of study — 
Some worn with toil — some of mere weariness — 
Some of disease — and some insanity — 
And some of wither'd, or of broken hearts ; 
For this last is a malady which slays 
More than are nundjcr'd in the lists of Fate, 
Taking all shapes, and bearing many names. 
Look upon mc ! for even of all these things 
Have I partaken ; and of all these things, 
One were enougli ; then wonder not that I 
Am what I am, but that I ever was. 
Or having been, tliat I am still on earth. 

Ahffot. Yet, bear me still 

Man. Old man! I do respect 

Thine order, and revere thy years; I deem 
Thy purpose pious, but it is in vain! 
Think nic not churlish ; I would spare thyself, 
Far more than me, in shunning at this time 
All further colloquy — and so — farewell. \_Exit MANTREaj 



208 MANFRED. [act iil 

Abbot. This should have been a noble creature : he 
Hath all the energy which would have made 
-V goodly frame of glorious elements, 
Had they been wisely mingled ; as it is, 
It is an awful chaos — light and darkness — 
And mind and dust — and passions and pure thoughts, 
Mix'd, and contending without end or order. 
All dormant or destructive : he will pcrisli. 
And yet he must not; I will try once more. 
For such are worth redemption ; and my duty 
Is to dare all things for a righteous end. 
I'll follow him — but cautiously, though surelj'. 

[Exit Abbot. 

SCENE II. 

Another Chamber. — Manfred and Herman. 

Her. My lord, you bade me wait on you at sunset : 
He sinks behind the mountain. 

Man. Deth he so ? 

I will look on him. 

[Manfred advances to the Window of the Hall. 
Glorious Orb ! the idol 
Of early nature, and the vigorous race 
Of undise-ised UKinkind, the giant sons* 
Of the cmlu'ace of angels, with a sex 
j\Iore beautifid than they, which did draw down 
The erring spirits, wlio can ne'er return. — 
Most glorious orb ! that wert a worship, ere 
The mysterj' of thy making was reveal'd ! 
Thou earliest minister of the Almighty, 
"Which gladden'd, on tlieir mountain tops, the hearts 
Of the Chaldean shepherds, till they pour'd 
Themselves in orisons ! Thou material (iod ! 
And representative of the Unknown — 
Who chose thee for his shadow ! Thou chief star! 
Centre of many stars ! whicli mak'st our earth 
Endurable, antl tempere^t the hues 
And hearts of all who walk within thy rays! 
Sire of the seasons ! Monarch of the climes, 
And those who dwell in them I for near or far, 
Our inborn spirits have a tint of thee. 
Even as our outward aspects ; — thou dost rise, 
And shine, and set in glory. Fare thcc well! 
I ne'er shall see thee more. As my first glance 
Of love and wonder was for thee, then take 
My latest look : thou wilt not beam on one 
To whom the gifts of life and warmth have been 
Of a more fatal nature. He is gone : 
I follow. [JSanV Manfred. 

'■■ " And it came to pass, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that 
they were lair," &c. — •■ There were giants in the earth in those days; and also 
after tliat, wlieii the sons of God came in unto tlie daugliters of men, and tliey 
bare children to them, the same became mighty men which were of old, men 
vf renown." — Genesis, vi. 2, 4. 



SCENE III.] MANFRED. 209 

SCENE III. 

The Mountains — T/ic Castle of Manfred at some distance — A Tcr 
race he fore (I Tinrer.— Time, Txcili(jht. — IIekman, Manuel, «/uJ 
other Dependants of Manfred. 

Her. 'Tis stranjjfc cnoutrli : nijjht aftei* night, for years, 
He hath pill sued long vigils in this tower, 
Without a witness. I have been witliin it — 
So have we all been oft-times : hut from it, 
Or its contents, it were impossii)le 
To draw conclusions absolute, of aught 
His studies tend to. To be sure, there is 
One chamber where none enter : I would give 
The fee of what I have to come these three years, 
To pore ui)on its mystsries. 

Manuel. 'Twere dangerous ; 

Content tliyself with what thou Ivnow'st already. 

Her. Ah, Manuel ! thou art elderly and wise. 
And couldst say much ; thou hast dwelt within the castle — 
How many years is't ? 

Manuel. Ere Count Manfred's birth, 

I served his father, whom he nought resembles. 

Her. There be more sous in like predicament. 
But wherein do they ditier ? 

Manuel. I speak not 

Of features or of form, but mind and habits; 
Count Sigisnuind was proud — but gay and free — 
A warrior and a reveller ; he dwelt not 
With books and solitude, nor made the night 
A gloomy viyil, but a festal time, 
^lerrier than day ; he did not walk the rocks 
And forests like a wolf, nor turn aside 
From men and their delights. 

Her. Beshrew the hour, 

But those were jocund times ! I would that such 
Would visit the old walls again ; they look 
As if they had forgotten them. 

Manuel. These walls 

Must cliange their chieftain first. Oh ! I have seen 
Some strange things ia them, Herman. 

Her. Come, be friendly ; 

Relate me some to while away our watch : 
I've heard thee darkly speak of an event 
W^hich happen'd hereabouts, by this same tower. 

Manuel. That was a night indeed ! I do remember 
'Twas twilight, as it may be now, and such 
Another evening; — yon red cloud, which rests 
On Eigher's pinnacle, so rested then— 
So like that it might be the same ; the wind 
Was faint and gusty, and the mountain snows 
Began to glitter with the climbing moon; 
Count Manfred was, as now, within liis tower — 
How occupied, we knew not, but with him 
The sole companion of his wanderings 
And watchings — her, whom of all earthly things 
That lived, the only thing he seem'd to love- 
ly 



210 MAXFRED. [act hi. 

As he, indeed, by blood was bound to do — 

The Ladj' Astarte, his 

Hush ! who comes here ? 
Enter the Abbot. 

Abbot. Where is your master ? 

Her. Yonder, in the tower. 

Abbot. I must speak with him. 

Manuel. 'Tis impossible ; 

He is most private, and must not be thus 
Intruded on. 

Abbot. Upon myself I take 

The forfeit of my fault, if fault there be — 
But I must see him. 

Her. Thou hast seen him once 

This eve already. 

Abbot. Herman ! I command thcc, 

Knock, and apprise the Count of my approach. 

Her. We dare not. 

Abbot. Then it seems I must be herald 

Of my own purpose. 

Manuel. Reverend father, stoj) — 

I pray you pause. 

Abbot. Why so ? 

Manuel. But step this way, 

And I will tell you further. [Exeutit 

SCENE IV. 

Interior of the Tower. — Manfred alotie. 

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops 

Of the snow-shining mountains. — Beautiful! 

I lino'cr yet with Xature, for the night 

Hath l)een to me a more familiar fiice 

Than that of man; and in her starry shade 

Of dim and solitary loveliness, 

I learn'd the Innguage of another world. 

I do remember me, that in my youth, 

Wlien I was wandering — u))on such a night 

I stood within the Coliseum's wall, 

'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome ; 

The trees which grew along the broken arches 

Waved dark in tlic blue midniglit, and the stars 

Shone thi'ough the rents of ruin ; from alar 

The watch-dog liay'd beyond the Tiber: and 

More near from out the Cassars' palace came 

The owl's long en-, and, interruptedly, 

Of distant sentinels the fitful song 

Begun and died upon the gentle wind. 

Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 

Appear'd to skirt the horizon, yet thej- stood 

Within a bowshot — where the Ctesars dwelt. 

And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst 

A grove which springs through levcll'd battlements, 

And twines its roots with the imperial hearths, 

Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ;— 



SCENE IV.] MANFRED. 

But the g-ladiatcrs' hlootly Circus stands, 
A nohle wreck in ruinous perfection! 
AVhile Cesar's chanihers, and the Aujfustan halls, 
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. — 
And thou didst shine, thou rollinf^ moon, upon 
All this, and cast a wide and tender light, 
"Which soften'd down the hoar austerity 
Of rugrued desolation, and fill'd up, 
As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; 
Leaving that heautiful which still was so, 
And making that which was not, till the place 
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er 
With silent worshij) of the great of old!— 
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 
Our spirits from their urns. — 

, . 'Twas such a night ! 

Tis strange that I recall it at this time ; 
But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight 
Even at the moment when they should array 
Themselves in pensive order. 

Enter the Abbot. 

Abbot. IMy good lord ! 

I crave a second grace for this approach ; 
But yet let not ni}' humble zeal oticud 
By its abruptness — all it hath of ill 
Eecoils on uie ; its good in the clfect 
ISIay light upon your head — could I say heart — 
Could I touch that, with words or prayers, I should 
Recall a noble spirit which hath wander'd. 
But is not yet all lost. 

Man. Thou know'st mc not ! 

My days are number'd, and my deeds recorded: 
Retire, or 'twill be dangerous — Away ! 
Abbot. Thou dost not mean to menace me ? 
Man. XotI; 

I simply tell thee peril is at hand. 
And would preserve thee. 

Abbot. What dost mean ? 

, ^Icn- Look there! 

u hat dost thou see ? 
Abbot. Nothing. 

j^^aii. Look there, I say, 

And steadfastly ;— now tell me what thou seest. 

Abbot. That which should shake me,— but 1 fear it not— 
I see a dusk and awful figure rise. 
Like an infernal god, from out the earth ; 
His face wrapt in a mantle, and his form 
Robed as with angry clouds ; he stands between 
Thyself and me — but I do fear him not. 

Man. Thou hast no cause— lie shall not harm thee — but 
His sight may shock thine old limbs into palsy. 
I say to thee — Retire ! 

Abbot. And I replv— 

Never— till I have battled with this' fiend :— 
What doth he here ? — 



211 



212 MAXFUED. [ACT in. 

^f(1n. Why— ay — \vh:it ilotli lio hoio ?— 

1 (lid not sciul for him — he is unl)i(Uk'U. 

Alihot. Alas ! lost niortiil ! what witii j^niosts like these 
llast thou to do ? I tivinhle for thy sake : 
Wiiy dolii he uaze on liiee, and tlioii on him ? 
Ah! he unveils his iisjieet : on his hroxy 
The thunder-sears are •ii-aven; from his eye 
(i lares forth the immortality of hell — 
Avaunt! — 

Man. I'ronounee — what is thy mission ? 

Spirit. Come ! 

Abhot. \Vhat art thou, unknown heinu' ? an>wer !— speak ! 

Spirit. The j^enius of this mortal. — t'onn ! 'tis tinu'. 

Man. 1 am preparid for all lhin;.;s, hut deny 
The ]io\ver whieh sunnnons me. Who sent tliec here ? 

Spirit. Tiiou'lt know anon — Come ! come ! 

Man. 1 have commanded 

Thinus of !ii\ esseneo fj^reator far than thine, 
And striven with thy masters. (Jet thee henee ! 

Spirit. Mortal! tiiine hour is eonui=>-.\way ! I say. 

Man. 1 knew, and know my hour is eome, hut not 
To render ni) my soul to sueh as thee : 
Away! I'll die as I have lived—aloni'. 

Spirit, 'fheu I must summon up my hretlnen. — Kise! 

[Other Spirits rise up. 

Abbot, .\vaunt! yeexilones! .Vvaunt! I say — 
Yc have no |)ower where piety hatii power. 
And I do eharne ye in the nanii 

Spirit. ' Old man ! 

We know ourselves, our mission, and thine order; 
Maste not thv holy words on idle usi-s, 
It were in vam : tins man is t'orfeited. 
Onee more 1 sununon him — Away! •.uvay! 

Man. I do dety ye — thonu'h 1 feel my soul 
Is ehhinjr from me, vet 1 do defy ye; 
Nor will I henee, wliile I have earthlv hreath 
To Invathe my seorn uiH)n ve — earthly strenjith 
To wrestle, tiionj:h with spirits; what yc take 
Shall he ta'en lind) 1>\ liuih. 

Spirit. Reluctant mortal ! 

Is this the IMaijian who would so pervade 
The world invisihle, and nndvc himself 
Almost our c(|ual ? — Can it he that thon 
Art thus in love with life ? the very life 
Whieh made thee wretcheel! 

Man. Thou false fiend, thou liest I 

My life is in its last hour; t/mt 1 know, 
Nor woidd redeem a moment of that hour. 
1 do not condiat a^^ainst death, hut thee 
And thy surronndinji' anu'cls; my past power 
M'as purchased hy no c(unpact with thy crew, 
Ihit 1>\ superior science — )>enanee — daring' — 
And length of watchin;;- — strenuth of mind — ami skill 
In knowledi:e of our fathers — when the earth 
Saw men and spirits walking sitle liv side, 
And gave ye no su[ireuiacy : 1 staiiA 



HCKtiE IV.] MA YFRED. > \ ;», 

TT]i<)ii my strfiiifjlli — T do defy — <l(;iiy — 
,Spiii-ii liiick — and Hcorn yc ! — 

S/iirit. Hut thy iniiiiy criiiics 

Have made tliec 

Man. What arc tliey to siii'li in tlicc; ? 

Musi (^riiiK's 1)(! jiiiiiiMliM Imt l>v otlicr criiiicH, 
Ami j.n-,.:i(ci- criiiiiiials !— l{ar:k" to lliv lii.'ll ! 
'I'lioii liiist no powiT ii|»)n me, //I'lt i I'ccl ; 
'I'lioii iirvcr sli;ill [lOMscss nic, t/i(il I know: 
\Vli;il I have ilonc is (lone ; I hear within 
A toilurc whicli coiiM Motliin;^- ;;ain from tliilic : 
'i"li(: mind whii'li is immortal nnikcs itself 
]{r(|iiilal for its j^ood or i^vil thou'^'hts — 
Is its own origin of ill and v.ud — • 
Anil its own |ilac(; and tirm^ — its iiinato kciihc, 
When stri|)|i'd of this mortality, dci'ivcs 
Ko color from the flcclin^r thin;;s without; 
]}ul is alisoi'li'd in sniriran<-(; or in joy, 
Uorri from the Unowlccl^c of its own df'S(;rt, 
Thou didst not tcnnpt nn;, iind thou couldst, not Unr^r Oic; 
I have not l)c(;ii thv dupo, nor am thy picy — 
Hut was my own dc^stroycr, and will Ik; 
My own h('rcaft<'r. -IJack. yc hafHcil (icrids ! 
The hand of death is on mc — liul not yours! 

{'I7if Drt/i/ni rlinnppear. 

Ahltol. Alas! how jialc thou art thy lips arc while; 
And thy hrirast heaves — an<l in thy ;^aspiii>;- throat 
1'lu! !U^e(!nts I'attli; — (iive thy prayers to Il<'av(;n — 
I'rav — allx'it hut in thou^;hl^hut die not thus. 

^]tlll. "I'is over -my didl eyes can fi\ thee not; 
]!ul all lhin;4s swim around me, and the earth 
] leaves as it were lieneath nie. I'"are thee well — 
(live mc thy hand. 

Ah';ot. Cold — fold — ('ven to the heart — 

Hut yet t>iw prayer — Alas! how fares it with thee ? 

Man. Old man ! 'tis not ko diilieult to die. 

[Mankukd expires, 

Ahhdl. lie Vs }jone — his soul hath ta'(!n his carlliiess (li;;lit — 
Whither ? 1 dread to think — hut he is none. 



HEAVEN AND EARTH: 

A MYSTERY, 

POUNDED ON THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE IN GENESIS, CHAP. VI. 

' And It came to puss .... that (lie sons of (iod siiw tlio (ljuii.'litors ot'incn thai 
they wero I'air; and tlicy took thoni wivos of all wlikh tlioy chuso." 



" And -woman wailing for licr domon lover."— Colbhidgk. 



Bvnmntis ^Pcrsoncc. 

ANGELS. 

Samiasa. 

AZAZIEL. 

Kai'iiael, the Afchangel. 

MEN. 

NoAu and his Sons — 

Irad. 

Japhet. 

WOMEN. 

Anaii. 
Auolibamau. 

Chorus of Spirits of the Earth. — Chorus of Mortals. 



2U 



HEAVEN AND EARTH. 



I'AR'I' I. 

HCKNH I. 

A Koody and moiinf.aliifnii dintrict war Mount Anirnt. — Time, 

MidiiKjIit. 

Enter AxAii and Aiiomiiamaii. 

Anali. Our fal her sleeps ; il i.s tin: lioiir wlicii (lii;y 
^^'llc) lovo us lire iici-ustonril to (Icscciiil 
TlnDU^Ii the (Iccp clouds o'er rocky Aninit : 
J low my liciirt beut.s ! 

Alio. Let us i)roce(!(l upon 

vMir invocation. 

Anah. Itut tlio stui's ;iic; lii(l(|(Mi. 

I t\\"iiil)lc. 

A/io. Ho (lo I, hut not uilli \'r.;iv 

or iiu^r'it save llieir (lel.iy. 

AiiiJi. My sIhIci', lliouj,rli 

] love Ar'.iiziel nion; tiian oh, loo niiich ! - 

AVImt was ! ^roin;,'' to say ? niy hcni-t ;^rows inipiouH. 

A/io. And wliero is tlie impiety ol' lovinj^ 
Celestial natures ? 

Andh. Hut, Aholihamali, 

I love our (iod less since His aiij,'cl lov(^d mc : 
Tiiis cMniiot1)e ol" aoiA; and Ihou^'^h 1 know not 
'I'hiil I do wron^i', 1 feel a. Iliousand Icara 
AS'Jiich are not ominous of rin'ht. 

Alio. Then wed (hee 

Unto some son of <'lay, and toil and spin! 
'.rh<'ri,' 's .Ia-i)liet loves") Ikm; well, hath iov(ul thee long. 
Glairy, and lirin;;' forth dust! 

Andh. I shoidd have loved 

Aza/icI not less, wei'e he moiial ; yet 
J am ;;lad he is not. I can not outlive him. 
And wli(;n I tiiink that his inunorlal win^s 
■\\'ill one day hover o'er tiie sepulchre 
Of the poor Clnld of clay wiii<'li so adored him, 
A^ h<! adores llic lli^iiicst, death becomes 
],c>s terrible : but yet I pity him; 
His i^rief will bi; of a^cs, or at least 
>Iinc would be such for him, were 1 the .Seraph, 
And he the perishable. 

^15 



2n\ iii:.\n:\ a\i> i.Mirii. [iauii. 

Alio. IJiillu-r siiy, 

'riiiil lie will single lorlli some oduT ilimiihtcr 
Ol' I'.arlli, iiiiil liiM' liiT MS lie mici' l()\fc(l Aiiiili. 

AiKi/i. Aiul if il slioiilii lii> NO, uiiil slio lovcil liiiu, 
liotliT tliiis lliMii lliiil 111" sliuiild wi'i'p lor IIU'. 

A/io. If 1 liiou^'lit lliiis ol' Siiiuiiisii's lovi', 
All Si'rii|>li IIS ln^ is, I'll .s|iuni iiiiu IVom luo. — 
Jliil to our iiivoi'iiliou ! "I'is (he hour. 

Aim/i. SiTiipli ! 

l''i'oin lliv >|>lu'rc ! 
W'iialcMM' stiir coiiliiin (liy i^loi'v ; 
III llii' I'll Tiial ilc|illis o'f iitiiwn 
Allii'il (hoii wiilclii'sl with " ihr si'\ cii,"* 
'riioui;li lliroui;h s|iiu'f iiilinilc iiiul hoary 
lt» roil- lliy lii'i^iit. \viii;;s worlds he ilri\rii, 
Vcl lii'iir! 
Oh! IhiiiU of h.T who holds thee dear! 

And Ihoimh she iiolhiii-' is (o llu'c. 
Yd think that thou art all to hcf. 
'I'hoii canst not tell and lUH^r he 
Such uim^'s di'ci'i't'd to iiuu'lit siivc iul — 
'lii<> hittorni'ss of li'iirs. 
lllcrnily is in thy ycai's, 
I'nhorn, iindyinfi' ln'iinty in thino I'vos; 
With nu- thou causl not syiii|iatlii/i-, 
I'Ai'i'iit in lovi", and there thou must 
AcUnow led^'o that more lovin;; dus(, 
Ke'er wept heneath the sUios. 
'I'lion walk'st thy iuaii\ worlds, thou set^st 
The face ol' lliin who made thee i;ri'al, 
As lie lialli made me ol' the least 
or those east out I'roiii I'.di'n's yate: 
^■el, Seiiii>h dear! 
Oh, hear! 
Vov thou liasi loved iiii-, and 1 would not dio 
I'lilil 1 know what I uiusi die in knowing-, 
'I'hal thou ror^'etl'sl in tliiiu' elerniU' 

Her whose heart death eoiild not keep from o'erllowinji: 
Vov thee, immortal esseia-e as thou an ! 
(ireat is their love who lo\t' in sin and I'l'ar; 
And such, 1 t'cel, arc wii,«inj;' in my heart 

A wiir imwortliy ; to an Adamite 
Forgive, my Sci-ajiii ! that such thoughts appear 
i>\)r sorrow is our clemeut ; 
Deli- hi 
An I'Mcn Kept afar from sijihl, 

Thonuh stunctinu's with our visions hlent. 
The hour is near 
Which tells me wi> arc not ahandon'd (piilo — 
Appear! appear! 
Seraph ! 
My own Aziizid! he luiI here. 
And leave the stars to their own lii;lil. 

• 'Dio iiri'l\inii:<'ls, snid tn lio seven In luimlier, iiiul to oocuiiv tho olnlilli rank 
In till' eoli'slliil liiiiaiiliv. 



stKNK I.] UEA\i:\ AM) llMcni. 



217 



Alio. Siiiiiiiisii! 

Wlirlvs,„.'.T 
'I'lioii fiilcsl ill Ihc ii|i|icr iiir -. 
Or wiiniii;^- willi (Jii: Hpirils who iiiiiy iliiro 
l)i^|)ii(c willi llilll 
\\'\\n iiiiidc III! ciiipircs, ciiiiiiic; or iccjillinu- 

'■^•"i" " Iciiiiy slur, uliicli sIkh.Is llin.ii^ili lluMtliyss, 

\\ liiisc (ciiiiuls il.yiii^i-, wliilc llicir wcrlil is raili'ii;,'-, 
Slmrc llic dim dcsliny of cluy in this; 

<)r .JDiiiiii;^- willi liic iiiTcrior cliiTiiliiiii, 
'I'lioii ilci^^iicsl, lo piirtiikc llicir liymn — 

iSitniiiisii ! 
I c:ill llicc, I iiwui( tlicc, iiiKJ I iovo IIkM!. 

.Mniiy limy WDrsliip llicc, (Imi will I not: 
Jf Hull Ihy spiril down lo mine iiiii_y moyo tlico, 
])csci'nil mid sluirc my lot ! 
1'liouyli I he rorm'd (il' clay, 

AikI llioii of liciinis 
More lii-i^hl Ihiiii lliosc of duy 

( )n Ivlcii's si reams, 
'J'liiiic iiiimorliilily can not rc|iay 

NV'illi love iiioi'c warm Ihan niinc, 
My loy(!. 'J'licrc is ii ray 

"in me, wliicli, tliou;iirrorliid<liii yet (o sliiiio. 
I I'cel wa- li;^lilcd al lliv (Jod's and thine. 
It may h(! Iiiddi^ii lon^ : I'lealh ami decay 

Onr iiiolhi'r live hc(|nealh'd lis— lint inv liourt 
])clies il ; llioiiL'h lliis lite must |iiihm away, 
^ ^ Is llidt II cause lor thee and me to |mrt'? 
'J'lioii lilt iliimortiil— so iiiii I ; 1 leel — 

I ieel my immorliility o'crswcttp 
7\11 pains, "nil tears, iiirtimc, nil fciirs, and peal, 

Like the .•tenia! Ihnndeis of the deep, 
Jiilo my cars this truth "'I'hoii liy'st Ibrcycr!" 
IJllt if il he ill joy 
I Iviiow not, nor would know; 
That secret rests with the Aiini^rhly (Jiver, 

Who folds ill clouds the fonts of'liliss and woo. 
IJnt thee and me He never can destroy: 
('liaii;;e us lie may, hm not o'crwlielni ; we arc 
(»r as elernal essence, anil iiiiist war 
With llilll if lie will war with lis: with lJit:e 
I cuii Hhiire all tliiiit;s, even immortal sorrow; 
For thon hast yentiired to share life willi inr, 
And shall / shrink from thine eternity! 
No! thon^ii the serpent's stiii^' should pii'Vee nii; through. 
And thon thyself wcrt like the serpent, coil 
Aroiinil me still ! and I will smile, 
And ciirsc thee not; hut liohl 
'J'hce in as warm a told 

As JJiit descend, and provo 

A mortiil's loyo 
For an immortal. If the skies contain 
More joy than thon canst t;ive and take, rciimin ! 

Anii/i. Sister! sister! I view them wiii;fiii)f 
Their hri-lit way lhroii;/li the partoil iiiyht, 



218 Tir.AVEX A\D ICAirnr. Ii-Mtn. 

A/io. Tlic cloiuN iVom (itV llicir piiiinns nini^in^r. 
As I1iiuil;1i liu'N lioii- lii-iiii>iTo\v's lii^lil. 

Aiiii/i. liiil i'r our I'miIht s.'i' tin- siL;lil ! 

Ahi>. lli> woulil Imt tli'cm it wms tin' luooii 
Hi-iinj;' iinio somo soiviTcr's lmu> 
An lioiii' lcn> sdoii. 

Aiiti/i. 'I'lu'v coiiu' ! /((• CDiiu's ! — A/.Mziol! 

A/i«. lliistc 

To iiUH'( tln'iii ! Oil for winu's to ln'iir 
IMy spiril, \vliil(- llu'V liovi'l- llicro, 
'J"o SMiiiiii-^M's l>n';i-*t ! 

AiKi/i. Lo! tlii'v l>:ivi- Kiii.lliMl :ill llic west, 
lAki' !i rctiiriiinu: simsol ; lo ! 

(>ii Ariii'.'it's liil(> sccrcl itcsI. 
A mild Mini mimv-i'oloi'M Uow, 
Tlic ri'mn;ml of llu'ir Ilii-iliiiiL;' )iMth, 
Kow sliiin"<! Miiil now, licholil ! it listth 
UcIiii'mM to iii:;lil, ns ri|>]iliiii; t'oMui, 

\\'liifli till' U'viMlhiiM liiilh l;isliM 
From liis iintMllioinalili' lionu', 
M'iu'M s|ioi-|inu' on tlic I'sn'c of tin- cmIiu deep, 

Sulisidiw soon iil'lcr lie iii;'!iiii liMtli dasli'd 
Down, down, lo wlu'i'c tin- (H'c;in's fonnliiins shv^ji. 

A/io. Tlu'v liiivc toLicliM oailh ! -S;uniiisii ! 

Allah. My Azayiol ! 

^Exeunt 
si-i:m'. II. 

V.ntrr li{\i> and JAl'ilirr. 

IraiL Di>s)i(nnl not : wlu-rcfori' will lluni ■\V!Hi(Ii-r thus 
To add tiiy silcnco to thc> siU-nt niiilil. 
And lil'l li"i> tcarrul oyo nnio lln> stars ? 
Tln'\' I'annol aiii llioi". 

Jdjtti. r.nt tlu'v sooiho ino — now 

I'lrhai's slio looks njion llicni as 1 look. 
Mrlluuks a hoin;;' llial is beautiful 
llci'ouu'lli nioro so as ii looks on lu'anly, 
'J 111" otiM'inil lu'aut\ of uud\ inn' tliiiiirs, 
() Anal\! 

IrtiiL Hut slio lo\i>s tlioo not. 

Ji,l>h. Alas! 

inril. And )iroud Aholiliuniiih spurns mo .also. 

.hiph. 1 IV.'I for tlu'i> loo. 

Irad. I.i't luM' ki"C|i licr prido, 

IMinc liatli onahh-d nn- lo In'ar licr scorn ; 
It may lio, time too >\ ill nvoni;o it. 

Jo fill. Canst llioii 

I'ind Joy in such !i llioni;'lit ? 

Irnd. Nor joy, nor sorrow. 

1 lo\ I'd licr woll ; 1 would havi' loved lior hotter. 
Had lo\i' heen met with love; as 'tis, 1 leave her 
To hriuhter destinies, if so sho dooms them. 

Japii. What destinies ? 

/)•(/(/. 1 have some eanse to thiid< 

!?lie loves anothor. 

Japh. Anah ? 



8 »^-V!-- II.] IIEAVIIN A SI) llAltril. 

N<i ; licr hislci'. 



•I 1 \) 



lr,id. 

.1 iph. WIlMl ..||„T? 

J>'<"l- 'I'liiil I Kuinv lird ; liiil Iht nir. 

II liol her wonls, (clU liic mIic loves iiiKillicr. 

Japh. A V, lull, iKil, Aiiali ; hIic IiiiI. lnvrn h.r (;.),!. 

had. \\ lint(!'cr hIk: IovcIIi, ho ^Ih; loves lli.c ii(,|', 
\\\\:\\ can il, profit (hcc ? 

, -'"I'''- True, iiolliiii-; lint, 

J love. 

I rail. Ami ho did |. 

-f'pli- And now llioii Iov'hI, not;, 

(Jr IJiiiilsM, llioii Iov'nI not, ;irl IIkjii JiiijipiiT ? 

I, ■<,(!.. y,,^_ 

Jii/ili. I pily- llicc. 
/'•'"/■ ■ M(;! why? 

- -^"M- I'or liciri- luippy. 

l^cjMivcd ol (hid, whicli iiiiikcH my iiiiscry. 

Irad. I |iil<c (liv (itiiiil, us )iiiiM o'i' lliy drslciripcr 
And would iiol frVl m lliou dost lor iiKirc; shcl^cln' 
'riiiiii nH our iMlhcr's licrds woidd Itriii;^ il' w<;iKli'(l 
A^'-itiiisI, lli(! incliil of iho .sons of ( Iiiiii - 
'J'ln; ^yellow diisl, Ijicy try lo Iwrtur wilJi iin, 
As il Hiich iiiclcHs iiiid iliMcolor'd triiMh, 
'I'hi: rcriist! of Iho ciirlh, could he received 
l''or iiiilji, ittiil wool, luid llesli, iiiid IViiils, itiid ;ill 
Our llocJvH mid wildei'iiesH iillbrd. (mi, .Iiiphel, 
.Si;:li lodio MliirM, US wiflv(ts howl to Mie mooii — 
I iiiiisl, buck to my rest. 

•I<il'l'- And HO would I, 

jr I could rcHt. 

I>'<"l- Thou will uol lo our tents iheu ? 

.Iiil>li. .Vo, Ir.'Kl; I will to the eiivern, whose 
Month, they siiy, opens from tin- internid woild, 
'I'o l.'l ihe inner spirits of the eiii'th 
l''oi'th when they wiilk its surhu'c. 

''''"'■ Wh.'reloreHr,! 

W hilt woiildst thou (iiere 'i 

Jii/ih. HoolJK! furl her my hikI Mpirit 

u ilh f^loom IIS sad : it is ii liopcdess spot, 
And I II.III hopeless. 

/""'■ Tint 'tis (l(in^(!rous; 

.Struil^rc H(Hllids luid Hii.;hts li.ive peopled it with leiTors. 
J liilist HI) with thee. 

■/"/>/'■ Irad, no; helieve mi! 

I I'eel no evil (lioii;.dit, and leiir no evil. 

/rati. Hut evil Ihinws will he thy i\,f the more, 
As not heinjr ,,\' Ihem : turn thy steps iisi.le, 
Or hi mine he with thine. 

•'"/'^'- No; neither, Irad: 

1 must proceed alone. 

/i'<"/. Then |ieitee he with thee! 

, , . , , [I'lri/. I HAD. 

Japk. (HoluH.) W'.wi'A. 1 have sonelit it where it should h< 
Idiitid, 
III love --with love, too, whifili perliaps deserved il; 
And, in its stead, it heaviuesM of hcurl,— 



220 HEAVE X AXD EARTH. [parti. 

A weakness nf the Pi)irit — listless days, 

And niuhts inevorablo to sweet sleep — 

Have come upon me. Peace ! what peace ? the calm 

Of desolation, and the stillness of 

The untrodden forest, only broken by 

Tlie sweeping' tempest throuuh its groaning houghs; 

Such is the sullen or the fitful state 

Of my mind ovci-worn. Tlic earth 's grown wicked, 

And many signs ami )iortents have proclaim'd 

A change at hand, and an o'erwhclming doom 

To perishable beings. Oh, my Anah ! 

When the dread hour denounced shall open wide 

Tlie fountains of the deep, how mightest thou 

Have lain within this bosom, folded from 

The elements — this bosom, whicii in vain 

Hath beat for thee, and then will beat more vainly, 

"While thine O God ! at least remit to her 

Thy wratli ! for she is pure amidst the tailing 
As a star in the clouds, which cannot quench, 
Althougli they obscure it for an haiu". My Anah! 
How would I have adored thee, but thou wouldst not; 
. And still would I redeem thee — see thee live 
When Ocean is Earth's grave, and, unopposed 
By rock or shallow, the leviathan, 
Lord of the shoreless sea and watery world. 
Shall wonder at his boundlessness of realm. 

[Exit Japhet. 

Enter XoAH tmil Shem. 

Noah. Where is thy brother Japhet ? 

Shcm. He ■went forth, 

According to his wont, to meet with Irad, 
He said; but, as I fear, to bend his steps 
Towards Anah's tents, round which be hovers nightly, 
Like a dove round and round its pillaged nest; 
Or else he walks the wikl up to tlie cavern 
Which opens to the heart of Ararat. 

Noali. What dotli he there ? It is an evil spot 
Upon avi cartli all e\ il ; for things worse 
Than even wicked nu^n resort there : he 
Still loves this daughter of a fated race. 
Although he could not wed her if siie loved him, 
And that she doth not. Oh, the unhappy hearts 
Of men ! that one of my blood, knowing well 
The destiny and evil of' these days. 
And that the hour approacheth, should indulge 
In such forbidden yearnings ! Lead the way ; 
He must be sought for ! 

Shem. Go not forward, father ; 

I will seek Japhet. 

Xoah. Do not fear for me : 

A.11 evil things are powerless on the man 
Selected by Jehovah. — Let us on. 

Shem. To the tents of the father of the sisters ? 

Xoah. No ; to the cavern of the Caucasus. 

[Ejreunt NoAii and Shem. 



6CENK III ] HEAVEN AND EARTH. 221 

SCENE III. 
Thi' motintains. — A cavern, and the rocks of Caucasus, 

Japh. (solus.) Yo wilds, that loolc eternal ! and thou cave, 
Which secni'st unlathoniahle ! and ye mountains, 
So varii'd and so torrilile in beauty ! 
IIoiv, in yonr ni^'^^'cd niajosty of rooks, 
And topplini,'' trees that twine their roots with stone 
In perpendicular places, where the foot 
(M' man would tremble, could he reach them — yes, 
Ye look eternal ! Yet, in a few days, 
Perhaps even hours, 3'c will be chan;^ed, rent, hurl'd 
Before the mass of waters; and you cave, 
V>'hich seems to lc!ad into a lower world. 
Shall have its depth search'd by the sweeping' wave, 
And dolphins gambol in the lion's den: 

And man Oh, men! my fellow-beings ! who 

Shall weep al)ove your luiiversal ji'i'ave. 

Save I ? Who shall be left to weep ? — My kinsmen, 

Alas ! what am I better thati ye arc. 

That I nuist live beyond yc ? W'lierc shall be 

Tlie |ileasant places where I thought of Anah 

While I had hoj)e ; or the more sava;;e haunts. 

Scarce less beloved, where I desijair'il for hcrl 

And can it be ! — Shall yon exulting' peak, 

Whose glittering top is like a distant star. 

Lie low beneath the boiling of the deep ? 

No more to liave the morning sun breaiv forth, 

And s<;attcr back the mists in floating folds 

From its tremendous l)row ? no more to luive 

Day's broad orl) drop behind its head at even, 

Leaving it witli a crown of many lutes ? 

No more to be the lieacon of the world, 

Fm- angels to alight on, as the spot 

Nearest the stars ? And can those words "no more" 

Be meant for thee, for all things, save for us. 

And the predestined creeping things reservctl 

By my sire to Jehovah's bidtli ng ? May 

lie preserve them, and I not have tlie power 

To snatch the loveliest of earth's daughters Iroiu 

A doom wliieli even some serpent, with his mate. 

Shall 'scape, to save his kind to be prolong'd. 

To hiss and sting through some emerging world. 

Reeking and dank from out the slime, whose ooze 

Shall slumber o'er the wreck of this, until 

The salt morass subside into a sphere 

Bencatli tiic sun, and be the momnnent, 

The sole and undistinguish'd sepuh'hre. 

Of yet (piick myriatls of all life ? How much 

Breath will be still'd at once ! All-l)eauteous world! 

So young, so mark'il out for destruction, I 

With a cleft heart look on thee tlav by day, 

And night by night, thy number'd days and nights: 

I cannot savt: tiiee, cannot save even her 

Whose love had made me love thee more; but, aa 

A portion of thy dust, I eanuot think 



222 IIEAVEX AXD EARTH. [rAr.T i 

Upon thy com in;;- doom without a fcclhifj 

Such us — ()(ioil! ami canst Thou [lie pattscs. 

[A riis/ii»f/ sound from the carom is beard, and 
shouts of laughter — afterwards a S2)irit passts. 
Japh. ' lu the name 

Of tlic >rost Ilijjh, what art thou ? 

Spirit (laughs). Ila ! ha! ha! 

Japh. bv all that earth holds holiest, speak ! 
Spirit (hiuf/hs). Ila! ha! 

Japh. By tlic ai)proacliin,2r delunje! by the earth 
Which will he stranu'lcd by the ocean! by 
The deep which will l;iy open all her fountains! 
The heaven which will convert her clouds to seas, 
And the Omnipotent who makes and crushes! 
Thou unknown, terriWe, and indistinct, 
Yet awful Thin;:' of Shadows, sjicak to mc ! 
Why dost thou laugh that horrid laugh ? 

Spirit. Whv' wcep'st thou ? 

J-iph . For earth and all her children. 

Spirit. — ^ Ila! ha! ha! 

[Spirit vanishes. 
Jiiph. How the fiend mocks tlie tortures of a world. 
The cominji' desolation of an orl). 
On which the sun shall rise and warm no life ! 
How the earth sleeps! and all that in it is 
Sleep too upon the very eve of death ! 
Whv should they wake to meet it ? — ^Mlat is here, 
Which look like death in life, and speak like thiuLTS 
Eoru ere this dying world ? They come like clouds! 

[Various Spirits pass from the C'lrcnL 
Spirit. Rejoice ! 

The abhorred race 
Which rould not kec)) in Eden their high place, 
Hut listen'd to the voice 
Of knowledge without power. 
Are nigii the hour 
Of death ! 
Not slow, not single, not by sword, nor sorrow. 

Nor years, nor heart-brt'ak, nor time's sapping motion, 
Shall tiiev drop oil". Ueliold their la-<l to-morrow! 
Earth shall be o('ean ! 
And no breath, 
Save of the winds, be on the nnbonnilcd wave ! 

Angels shall tire their wings, but tind no spot: 
Not even a rock from out the liipiid grave 

Shall lift its point to save, 
Or show the place where strong Despair hath died. 
After long looking o'er the ocean wide 
For the expected ebb which comcth not: 
All shall be void, 
Destroy'd ! 
Another clement sliali be the loi-d 
Of life, and the abhorr'd 
Children of dust be (piencli'd ; and of each hue 
Of earth nought left but the unbroken blue ; 
And of the variegated mountain 



SCENE in.] IIEAVEX AXD EARTH. 223 

SIiiill noujilit remain 
Unchanged, or of the level plain; 
Cedar ami pine shall lift their tops in vain: 
All nierficd wilhin the universal fountain, 
Man, earth, and lire, shall die, 
An<l si'a and sky 
Look vast and lilcless in the eternal cj-e. 
U))oii the foam 
Who shall ereet a home ? 
Jap?i. {co/imir/ forward.) My sire! 
Kartli's seed shall not expire; 
Only the evil shall he put away 
From day. 
Avaunt! ye exultin";;- demons of the waste! 
Who howl your hideous joy 
When God destroys whom you dare not destroy; 
Hence I haste ! 
Back to j'our inner caves ! 
Until the waves 
Shall search you in your secret place, 

And (h'ive your sullen race 
Fortii, to he roll'd upon the tossinjr winds 
In restless wretchedness along all space! 
Spirit. Hon of the saved ! 

When thou and thine have braved 
The wide and warrin^i' clement; 
When the f;reat harrier of the deep is vent. 
Shall thou and thine l)e good or happy ?— No, 
Thy new world and new race shall he of woe — 
Less goodly in their aspect, in their years 
Less tlian the glorious giants, who" 
Yet walk the world in pride. 
The Sons of Heaven by many a mortal bride. 
Thine shall be nothing of the past, save tears. 
And art thou not ashamed 

Thus to survive, 
And eat, and drink, and wive ? 
With a base heart so far subdued :uid tamed, 
As even to hear this wide destruction named. 
Without such grief and courage, as should rather 

I5id thee await the world-dissolving wave. 
Than seek a shelter with thy favor'd father. 

And build thy city o'er the drown'd earth's grave,' 
Who would outlive their kind, 
Except the base and blind } 
Mine 
Ilateth thine. 
As of a diiferenl order in the sphere, 
But not our own. 
There is not one who hath not left a throne 

Vacant in heaven, to dwell in diirkness here, 
Rather than sec his mates endure alone. 

(io, wretch I and give 
A life like thine to other wretches — live! 
And when the annihilating waters roar 
Above what they have done, 



St24 iii:in:\A\i>i:\irrif. [pakt i. 

Envy tlic (Ji;inl rnlriiuclis llicii no iiioro, 
And si'oi'ii lliy sire iis llic siii'\ iviii;;' one! 
'I'liysfll" li)!' l)oiii>;' his sou! 

C/iorK.i of Spirits ixsuinff from the cavern. 
U.Joic,-! 

No iiion' llic luiiuaii voico 
iSliiiU M'\ oui- joys ill miikllo air 
Willi iii'Mvi'r; 
No more 
Siiiill liu'v luloiv; 
And we, wiio ne'er lor iii^cs liavr adoreil 

'I'lu' luayiM-cxaclinji' I,ord, 
To whom Ihr omission ol a sai'rilii'o 
Isvirr; 
Wo, we sliaii \ ii'w liio doi'p's salt sources jiourM 
llutil one element shall do the work 
( >!' all in ehaos ; until tliey, 
The ei'ealures in'ond ol'jjieir ixxir elav, 
Miall i.erish, and their lilearlied hones shall'lnrk 
In eaves, in ileus, in ek'I'ls of nionnlains, where 
'J"ln' deep shall follow to their latest lair; 

Where e\eu the hrnles, in their despair, 
Shall ei-ase to prey on man and on each other, 

And the striped ti^ei' shall lie down to ilii; 
Beside the lamli, as lhou;;h he were his hn)llier; 
Till all things shall he as they were, 
.Silent and uncreated, save the sky; 
While a brief trni'O 
Is made with Death, who shall forhear 
The little remnant of the i)a>t creation, 
To ^;eueialc new uaiions for his use; 
This remnanl, lloaliiiL; o'er the uudnlalion 
Of liie sniidniuu' deln^^e, iVolu its slime, 
"When the hot sun hath hakcd the reekinji' soil 
lull) a wiu'ld, shall uive auaiii to 'I'imo 
New beings years- diseases sori'ow criinc — 
'\\'ith all companionship of hale and loll, 

I'ntil 

Japh. {iiittrni/ifiii;/ t/icm.) Th," I'.lcrnal M'ill 
.Shall ilcif^n to i'\ponud this dream 
Of "i'ood and e\ il ; and '.I'decin 
Unto Himself all times, all things; 
And, piIhcrM under His ulmijihty win<;9, 
Abolish hell! 
And to the .■\piated Tarth 
Kcslori' the beauty of lu'r birth, 
Hi-r I'Mcu, in an endless paradise, 
Where man no more can fall as once lie I'cll, 
And even the very demons shall do well! 
Siiirit!'. And w hen shall take ell'eel this wondrous spell ? — 
Japh. When the IJcdecmer cometii ; liisl in pain. 

And llicn in ^;lorv. 
Spirit. iMcantime still strnu^le in tin' moilal chain — 
'I'ill I'aiih wa\ hoary ; 
War with yourselves, and hell, and heaven, in vain — 



«( r.Mc III.] 



ni: AVF.X AM) EAUTll. 



22;") 



Uiilil (lie c'l()ii<ls look iiitvx 
■Willi llio blood I'cckiiiM' fVoiii ciicli l)iilili'-|ilMiii ; 
New liiiu's, new clinics, new iirls, new men : hiil Mtill 
'J'Ik! same old (curs, old crimes, mid iilde<l ill, 
Sluill lie uMi(ni-s( your race in <iill'ereiii Conns; 

Hnl, (he s:ini<; moral sloniis 
f^liall ovcrs\vec|i \\\v. I'ndirc, a,s (lie waves 
J II a lew lioitrs tin; /glorious jfiaiils' graves.* 

('/lorii.s of Spirits. 

Bi'ellircii, rejoic(' ! 
Morlal, rarewell! 
Ilurk! liark ! already we can hear (lie voicci 
()l'^;rowin;;' (xvan's f^loomy swell; 
'riie winds, (oo, illinium (Ikmi- picrciii;,' wiii;,''s; 
'I'lic clouds have nearlv fill'd (heir s|irinj^N; 
The Coiiiilains of (he or(''a(, deep shall he hroken, 

And heaven sel wide ht'r windows;! while niaiikiiid 
View, nnackn<iwled;;-ed, each (remendoiis (ok(^ii— 
tS(ill, as (hey were IVoin (lie he^iinnin;;-, hliiid. 
We lica,r (he soiind (hey ca.nno( hear, 
The niMslcrin^' (hnnders of (he (hrea(enin;r sphere; 
\i-l a Cew hours (heir coiniii;.; is dclay'd; 
Thqir llasliin;^- hann.'is, Colded still on lii;;ir, 

^'e( Ii--play'd, 

.Save to the Spirit's all-perva,diiiM- eye. 

Howl, howl, () lOarUi! 
Thy deadi is iieanM- Ihaii (liy recent hirtli : 
'J'renihlc, ye iiioiin(ains, soon (o shrink helow 

The ocean's overllow ! 
Tli(! wave shall hivak upon ^■ollr(•lil^s; ami shells, 

'I'he hllle shells, ot ocean's l.'ast Illinois Ix^ 
Dcjioscd where now (he ea,;;le's ollsprinu- dwells— 

How shall he shriek o'er (he remorseless sea! 
y\nd call his ne.s(liii;,''s up wilh I'riiidess yell, 
Uiianswer'd, save hv (he encroiichin^i- swell;— 
WhiU; man s lall loi'i- in vain lor his hroad wiiij^s, 

Th(! win;4s which could not sav(! ; — 
Where could he res( (hem, while (he whole space; hriu"S 
Monoid (<> his eye heyoiid (he deep, his crave ? 
Mrediren, rej'oice ! 
And loudly lifi each snpcrhnnian voice- 
All die, 
Save the slijiht rcmnanl of Seth's seed— 

'I'he seed oC ,ScMi, 
Excnipl lor Cndirc Sorrow's sak(; IVoni deadi. 
linl ol' (he sons o('(;aiii 
Noik; shall remain ; 
And all his j^oodly daiiM-hicrs 
Must lie l)eiica(,h (he ('lesola,(in;^- walcrs- 
Or, doaJiii;;' upward, wilh (heir Ion;;- hair laid 
Alon^' the wavi:, (he cruel Heavctii upbraid, 

• " And tlicro wcro kIhmIh In llio Piirdi In (Iiono (divs, and iincr- nil"lilv nuji 

whlcli wcri' (ilOI.I, iiicii .if rciKiwii." — r/,'M(-.</.«. " • -- ^ i 

t "Tlicsi.mc .lay w.tc mII Ihc CniiiiOn,,-, „r ||„. ;.|-,.i,i ,1,.,.,, I,,-,,!,,.,, „,,. ,„„| Hie 

16 



826 HEAVEX A\D EARTH. [i-akt i. 

Which would not spare 
Buinji's oven in deiith so lair. 
It is lU'crceil, 
All dio! 
And lo the uiiiviTsal Inunun cry 
The univorsal silence shall succeed! 

Fly, brethren, lly ! 

But still rejoice ! 
\Veleil! 
They fall ! 

So pei'isii all 
These petty foes of Heaven who shrink from hell! 

['J'hc Spirits disappear, soariiir/ vpicnrds 
Japh. {solus.) God hath proelaini'd the destiny of earth ; 
My father's ark of safety hath aniionneeil it ; 
The very demons shriek it from their eaves; 
U'he scroll of Imkx'Ii prophesied it louj;"* 
In silent hooks, which, in their silence, say 
]Morc to the mind than thunder to4fee ear: 
And yet men listi'u'd not, nor listen ; hut 
AValk darkliui;' to their doom ; which, tlioni:'Ii so niji'h, 
Shakes them no more in thcii' dim disbelief 
Than their last cries shall shake the Almighty i)urpose, 
Or deaf obedient C)ccan, which fullils it. 
No sifi'ii yet lianas its banner in the air; 
The clouds are few, and of their wonted texture; 
The sun will rise upon the earth's last day 
As on the fouith day of creation, when 
(Jod said unto him "Shine! " and he broke forth 
Into the dawn, w Inch li>;hted not the yet 
I'uform'd forelathcr of numkind — but roused 
Ik'fore the lunnan orison the earlier 
INlai'ie and far sweeter voices of the birds, 
M'hich in tln' o))en iirmameut of heaven 
Ilaxe wiuu's like angels, and liki' Ihcm salute 
Heaven iirst each day before the Adamites! 
Their nuitins now draw ni^h — the east is kindlinji', 
And they will siny! and day will l)reak ! both near, 
So near, the awful close I For these must drop 
Their outworn pinions on the deep; and day, 
After the bri>;'ht course of a few brii-f moi-rows — 
Ay, day will rise — but upon what ? a chaos, 
A\'hieh was ere dav ; and which, rcnew'd, makes time 
Kothinir! for, williout life, what are the hours ? 
No more to ilust than is eternity 
Unto .Ichovab, who created boih. 
Without Hiiu, even eternily would be 
A void ; wilhoul man, time, as made for nnin, 
Dies with man, and is swallow'd in that deep 
A\'hich has no fountain; as his race will be 
Deviiur'd l>y that which drowns his infant world. — 
\\'hat have we here ? Shapes of both i-arth and air } 
No — «//of heaven, they arc so beautiful! 

* 'I'lio lio.ik of IOiiihIi, pivsorvccl by tlio Etliioiiiaas, is saiil by tlioiu to bo iin- 
^rioi- ui \\w iliuHl. 



:;i:ni. iM.J lli: WEN AND EARril. 227 

I i;iiiiiol ti:ii-o ilicir rciitiircs ; hut (lieir foniK, 
J low lovclily tli( V move iiloii;,'- tlu! side 
or llu; ;^r;iy iiioiuitaiii, scattering: il'^ mist! 
And uCtcr the swart sava^'-c spirits, whose 
Inrcrniil inuiiortality poiirM forth 
Thcii' impious liyniii of trininpii, (licy shall he 
Aych'oiiic as Ivlcii. It may he, (hcy'conu- 
To tell uu: I lie reprieve of our yoiinV world, 
For which 1 liavu so often pray'il— They conic ! 
Anah ! O God ! and with her 

Enter Samiasa, Azaziel, Anaii, atid Aiioi.ihamaii. 

Ana/i. Japh(;t ! 

Sum. ]^,,i 

A son of Adam ! 

/l-"- , Wliat doth the earlh-i)oru licre, 

AN'hiic all his race arc Hhaul)ei-in;,' ? 

■f"J'^<- An-.-el! what 

iJo.st tliou on earth wlien thou sjiouldst he on hi^iii ? 

Aza. Know'st thou not, or foi-^-ett'sl thou, thai a part 
Of our threat function is to ;;uard thine earth ? 

Ja/>/i. 15ut all ^()i)d an<i:els iiave forsaken earth, 
M'iiich is coiidcmn'd; nay, even the evil tly 
'J'iic approaching;- chaos. "Anah! Anah! my 
]u vain, and Ion;;-, and still lo he heloved ! 
Why walk'st tiiou with tiiis spirit, in tiiose hours 
When no ^-ood spirit longer lights helow ? 

Aimh. .Ja|)hct, I eaniiot answer thee ; yet, yet 
I'orgive me 

.liti>/i. INIay the Heaven, whicli soon no more 

A\iil pai-don, do so! for thou art greatly tcm|>ied. 

Alia. J>ack to thy tents, insulting son of Isoali! 
AW' know Ihec not". 

't'lp/t- Tlic hour may come when tlnju 

IMay'st know me hcttcr; and thy sister know 
Me still the same which 1 ha.vc 'ever hi!cn. 

Sdtn. Son of the Patriarch, who hath ever l)ccn 
I'pright hefore his (Jod, wiiatu'er thy grids, 
And thy words seem of sorrow, mix'd \vitii wrath. 
How have Azaziel, or myself, brought on thee 
Wrong? 

Ji(l)li. Wrong! the greatest of all wrongs; hut Ihou 
f^ay'st well, though she he dust, I did not, coidd not, 
lU'serve her. rarcwcll, Anah! 1 have said 
Tiiat word ,-0 often! hut now say it, ne'er 
To ho repeated. Angel! or wln'Ue'er 
Tiioii art, or must lie soon, hast thou tlie power 
'J'o save this heautiful — these Ijcauliful 
C'hildrcu of Cuiu .' 

Aza. From what ? 

Jiiph. And is it so, 

Tiiat ye too know not ? Aii;!-cls! angels! ye 
Have sliarcd man's sin, and, it may he, now nmst 
Partake his iiuni.^hment ; or, al the least, 
]My sorrow. 

^ S(U)i. Sorrow ! I ne'er thought till uow 

To hear an Adamite speak riddles to inc. 



228 HEAVEN AND EARTH. [parti. 

Japh. And hath not the Most High expounded them ? 
Then ye arc lost, as thev are lost. 

.4/(0. ' So he it ! 

If they love as they are loved, they will not shrink 
]More to Ite mortal, than 1 would to dare 
An inmiortality of agonies 
With .Saniiasa ! 

Anah. Sister ! sister ! speak not 

Thus. 

A:a. Fearest thou, my Anah ? 

Amih. ' Yes, for thee: 

I would resign the greater remnant of 
This little life of mine, before one hour 
Of tliine eternity should know a pang. 

Japh. It is for him, then! for the Seraph thou 
Hast left me! Tliat is notiiing, if thou hast not 
Left thy (iod Xoo ! for unions like to these, 
Between a mortal and ;ui immortal, rannot 
Be happy or he hallow'd. We are sent 
Upon the earth to toil and die ; antLtliey 
Are made to minister on high unto 
The Highest; hut if he ean nave thee, soon 
The hour will come in wliieh eelcstial aid 
Alone ean do so. 

Anah. Ah! lie speaks of death. 

Sam. Of death to ns.' and those who are with us! 
But that the man seems full of sorrow, 1 
Conld smile. 

Japh. 1 grieve not for myself, nor lear; 

I am safe, not for my own. desi'i'ts, hut those 
Of a well-doing sire, who halh been found 
liighteous enough to s;!ve his children. Would 
His ]iower was greater of redemption ! or 
That hy exchanging my own life for hers, 
^\'ho eonld alone have made mine hajipy, she, 
Tlio last and loveliest of Cain's raee, eould share 
The ark which shall receive a remnant of 
The seed of Seth ! 

Aho. And dost tbon think that we, 

With Cain's, the eldest-horn of Adam's, blood 
AVarm in our veins— strong Cain! who was begotten 
In Paradise — would mingle with Seth's children ? 
Seth, the last olV-<|)ring of old Adam's dotage ? 
No, not to save all earth, were I'arth in jierill 
t>ur raee hath always dwell ajiart from thine 
From the beginning, and shall do so ever. 

Japh. 1 did not speak to thee, Aholibaniah ! 
Too nuieh of the forefather whom thou vanntest 
Has eonie down in that haughty blood which springs 
From him who shed the first, and that a hi-()ther's! 
But thou, my Anahl^lel me call thee mine, 
.MiK'it thou art not ; 'tis a WvU'il I cannot 
I'art with, all hough 1 must from tlu>e. My Anah! 
Thou who dost lather make me dream that Abel 
Had left a daughter, whose jMire pious race 
.Survivetl in thee, st) much unlike thoii art 



8CENE III.] HEAVEN AND EARTH. 

Tlic rest of the storn Caiiiitcs, save in l)cauty, 
1m)1- all of llu'tii aro fairest in tlieii- favor '- 

Alio, {interrupting him.) And woulilst tlioii iiave her like 
our father's foe 
In mind, in soul ? If /partook thy tliou-ht, 
And dreaiu'd that aii^iht of /lie/ was in Ii7-r !— 
(iet thee henee, son of Noah; thou niakcst strife. 

Juj)h. Oll'sprin;;- of Cain, thy father did so! 

Alio. I5,ij 

He slew not Setli : and what hast thou to do 
With other deeds hetwecn his (Jod and him ? 

Japh. Thou speakest well : his (Jod hath jud-ed him, and 
I had not named his deed, hut that thyself " 
Didst seem to i;lory in him, nor to shrink 
From what he had done. 

-'l/'o- He was our fathers' father; 

The eldest horn of man, the stron;,'-est, hravest. 
And most endurin.u- :— Shall I hhisli for him, 
From whom we had our beinj^- ? Look upon 
Our race; behold their stature and their heaiitv. 
Their coura-e, stren^jth, and len^;th of da\s— — 

''">'''■, . . , The\- are numher'd. 

Alio. Be It so! Itut while yet their hoius endure, 
I filory in my brethren and our fathers ! 

Japh. j\iy sire and race but g-lory in their (iod, 

AiuUi ! and thou ? 

^ ^^>>nh. Whate'er our God deerecs, 

The (Jod of Seth as Cain, I must oi)ey, 

And will endeavor patiently to obey. 

15ut eould I dare to pray iii tliis dread hour 

Of niiiversal vcn;,''eanec (if such should be). 

It v.ould not be to live, alone exempt 

Of all my house. My sister! oh, my sister! 

What were the workl, or other worlds, or all 

The bri;;htest future, without the sweet past — 

Thy love— my father's— all the life, and all 

The lhin;.^s wliieh spnui^r up with nu', like the stars, 

INlakiii;^' my tlim existence radiant with 

Sofi li;4hts which were not mine ? Ahollbaniah ! 

Oh! if there shoidd be nu'rev — seek il, find it: 

I abhor death, heraiise that thou nuist ilie. 

Aho. What! hath this dreamer, with his fathur'.s ark, 
The bu;4-l)car he hath built to scare the world, 
.SlKd<eu mu sister ? Are tve not the loved 
(Jf seraphs ? and if wc were not, must we 
Clin;,'- to a son of Xoah for our lives ? 

Kather tiian thus But the enthusiast dreams 

The worst of dreams, the fantasies eu;;ender'd 
By hopeless love and heated vi;;ils. Who 
Shall shake these solid mountains, this firm earth. 
And bid those clouds and waters take a shaiie 
Distinct Irom that which we and all our sires 
Have seen them wear on their eternal way ? 
M'ho shall do this .' 

Jiiph. He whose one word produced them. 

A/io. Who heard that wortl ? 



29 



^30 ///■, ir/;.V .I.V/) /.MA' 77/. Ii-AUT 

Jnph. 'I'lio tiiii\i'!so, which k'UiiM 

To lilV lioforc it. Ah! siuil'st tlioii still iii scorn ? 
'I'urii to thy soniphs : if thov iittcsl it not, 
'I'licy nro iioiio. 

N((;/(, AholiliMiiiiili, own tliv (iod! 

.1/(0. 1 hiivc CMT hiiil'tl iiiii' ISlitUcr, Smninsa, 
As tliiiio, mul iiiiiu-; ;i (ioil <it' Idvo, not sorrow. 

Jii/i/i. .\l;is! wiiMi clso is lovi' but sorrow ? Even 
]lr who miiiK' I'iirlii in love, hud soon to j^riovo 
AI>i>M' its first nnil host inlmhiliiiits. 

.l/((>. "l"is siiid so. 

,/tipJi. It is I'voii so. 

/.'/,'/(•/• No.VU lUltl SllKM. 

.Vo;//,'. .IlU'lu't ! wliiit 

Post tliou here willi llu'sc chiUlrcn of the wickoil ? 
l)rc;ur>l thou not to |i:irt;!l>i' llu'li' coniinu' doom ? 

Jii/>/i. l''iithi'r, il fiinnol lu- :; sin to soi'k 
'J'o siivo im t'lirth-hoi'n bcin;^'; iind hoho'd, 
Thoso iiro not of tho sinful, since tlw>y hiivo 
The lVUowshii> of iinycls. 

\oiih. Thcsi- Mrc they, then, 

^Vllo leiivo tlio throne of Hod, to take them \\i\es 
From out the raeo of Cain; the sons of heinen, 
A\'ho seek earth's danu'liters lv)i' tlu'ir hcaiily .• 

.!;((. Talriareh! 

Thou hast said it. 

\o(i/i, Woo, woo, woo to such eouunuuion! 

lias iu>t (iod matlo a barrier botweon oarili 
And heawn, and Hunted each, kind to kind ? 

Sidii. \\ a> not man niaile in hij^h .leho\ all's inui.uo i" 
Did tio.l not lo\c what lie had made ? .Vnd what 
I)o we but imitate and onudato 
His lovo unto ercalod lovo ? 

\tHl/l. I !VUl 

lint nnm, and was iu>t nnnle to jndjjo mankind, 
Far less the sons of (iod; but as our (ioil 
Has deiL;n'd to eonnnnne with me, anil re\ eal 
7//.« jud'.^ineiUs, 1 ri'|ily, that the descent 
Of serajihs from their evci'lasiini;' seat 
I'nto a pcrishablo and pcrishin;;", 
Kvon on the very <•(•(• o( pcrin/iini/, world. 
Cannot bo jjood. 

A:a. What ! tbmijrh it wore to save ? 

Xonfi. Not yo in all your ^lory can redeem 
AV'hat lli> who made yon f^lorions hath condenm'd. 
A\'erc your innuoi'tal mission safety, 'iwouKl 
lU' L;eueral, not t'or two, thont;'h beantit'nl; 
And beautil'ul tiu'y are, bul not the less 
C'ondomn'd. 

Jiiph. ()h, t'ather! say it not. 

NiKih. Son ! son ! 

If that tliou wonldst avoid their doom, foryot 
That they exist : they soon shall ooase to l>o ; 
^\ bile thou shall bo the siro of a now world, 
And iu'Iler. 



fl<i:Ni; Mi.i iu:av/:.x Axi) i:A/r/'n. 2'M 

J'iph. T.(!t iiic (li(! willi ffiis, iiiid Ihnm! 

Noiih. Tlioii n/ioiiffl.'if Ibr.siicli ii liioii^ilil, Imt ulialt. not; lie 
Wlio run, rccli;ciiis lliin;. 

Satn. And wliy liini !iii(l IIkm.-, 

More: Mum wlml lie, tliv son. iircfi'i-.-i lo li:illi ? 

Noah. AmU Iliin who niiiild tluio Kroiilcr Mum uiyHclf 
And niitio, but not h^ss siil)J(M't lo His own 
AlniinliMncsH. Andio! His mildest imd 
Li'iist to i)u t(Mni)t(,'d niossungur aiiiiuiirs ! 

Enter JIai'MAKl l/w ArvluuKjcL 

Rank. .S|)irits! 

VVliOsu .'X'lit is ni':ir Mni Mtrono, 

WJKit do y.' iu.Tcr? 
Is MiUM II Hrr;i| li's duly to Ix; shown, 

Now Mild lin; hoiif is near 
When larlli must ho iilonc ? 
Hitiiru! 
Adoi'o !ind hiirii 
In ;;lorious honiiiji'i' wiMi Mir I'lcclcd " sovon," 

Your pliicc is ht.'uvcn. 
Sam. Uii|ihiU!l ! 

Till! lirst iuiil luircsi ol' Mic sons o!" (Jod, 

How Ion;;' hatli this hccn law, 
'I'ii.it cafth hy an;icls nuist hi; Icl'l iintrod ? 

Imii-IIi ! wliich oft saw 
Jidiovali's loolslcps not (Msdain her soil ! 
Thu woi'ld lie loved, and made 
I''or love; and oft h;i,\c W(! ohey'd 
His IVe(|uenl mission wifh di'U;iliied jiinifMis : 

Adoi'in;^- 1 1 ill) in His least works disphiy'd; 
Walehin^'' this youni;'est star of His (loininious; 
And as lluriatc'st hirtli of His ;;irat word, 
JMi;;er lo keep it woi'Miy ol" our Lord. 
Why is thy brow severe ; 
And wherei'ore speali'st Ihon of deslni' lion near? 

Hii/>h. Had Samiasa and .\/.ii/iel heeu 
In Iheirtruu [ilaee, wiMi the an;;ulii: elmir, 
W'riMcn in flri! 
They woidd have seen 
dehovah's lale deei'ee, 
And not in(|iiire(l their Maker's iirealh of me: 
I Jilt i;;uorani'e must ever he 
A part <d" sin; 
Antl (^veu the spirits' kuowledj;(; shall irntw less 

As they was proud wilhiii : 
l/'or Uliiidiiess is IIk^ (irsl-horu oC I'',\''ess. 

When Mil -ood an;:els left, Mie world, ye stay'd, 
Sliin;;' wiMi slran;^(! piissious, and dehised 

lly I tal feelings lor a morlal niaiil : 

ISiil yv ai-e paidon'd Ihiis far, and replaced 
With your jiiire e((iials. Hi'nce ! away! away! 
Or stay, 
And lose eternity hv that ileliiy ! 
Aza. And thou ! if eartli he thus I'oi'hidden 
In thi; decree; 



232 HEAVEN AND EARTH. [pakt i. 

To us until this moment hidden, 
Dost thou not err, :is \vc. 
In hoiiiu'' licrc ? 
JRaph. I came to call \ e back to your fit sphere, 
In tlic ;i-reat iianic and at the v.'ord of tnnl. 
Dear, dearest ii» themselves, aud scarce le-^s dear 

That which L came to do : till now we trod 
Toj,^ethcr the ctcrn;',! space, tofi'ethcr 

Let us still walk the stars. True, Earth must die! 
Ilcr race, relurn'd into her wouih, must wither, 

And in\ieh which she inherits : but oh ! why 
Cannot this earth be made, or be destroy'd, 
M'ithout involvin<j ever some vast void 
In the immortal ranks ? iinitiortal still 

In their immeasurable forfeit ure. 
Our brother Sata.n fell ; his bin-ninii- will 
Rather than longer worsh.ip dared endure ! 
But yc who still are pure ! 
Seraphs ! less mii^hty than that mightiest one, 

Think how he was undone ! _- 
And think if tempting- man can compensate 
For iieavcn desired too late ? 
Xiong have I vrarr'tt, 
Long must I v/ar, 
With him who deem'd it hard 
To be created, and to acknowledge ITini 
Who 'midst the cherubim 
^lade him as suns to a dependent star, 
Leaving the archangels at His right hand dim. 

1 loved him — beautiful he was ; () heaven! 
Save 7/('.v who made, what hcautv and what power 
Was ever like to yatan's ! Mould the hour 

In which he fell could ever be forgiven ! 
The Vv'ish is impious : but, oh yc ! 
Yet undestroy'd, be warn'd ! Eternity 

With him, or with his God, is in your choice ! 
lie hath not tcinjited you, he cannot tempt 
The angels, from his further snares exempt: 

l)iU man huth listen'd to his voice. 
And ye to woman's — beautiful she is. 
The serpent's voice less subtle than her kiss. 
The snake but vanquish'd dust: but she will draw 
A second host from heaven, to break heaven's law. 
Yet, yet, oh Hy : 
Y(! cannot die ; 
But they 
►Shall pass away. 
While yc shall till with shrieks the upper sky 

For ]>erishal)le clay, 
Whose memory in your immortality 

Shall long outlast the sun which gave them day. 
Think how your essence' ditfereth from theirs 
In all hut sull'ering! Why partake 
The agony to which they must be heirs — 
Born to be plough'd with years, and sown with carc«. 
Aud i-eap'd by Death, lord of the luiiuau soil ? 



SCENE III.] Jir.AVIlX AXD KMiTTL 

Evon liiiil llicir diiys l)ccn left to toil their path 
I'liroiiii'li lime (o (lust, niisliorteiiM bv (iod's wrath, 
Still they uro Evil's pnv !ui(l Sorrow's spoil. 

Aho. Eet Ihein lly ! 

I hoiir the voice which says Hint :ill must die, 
Sooner than our white-hearded patriarchs ilied ; 
And that on lii-:h 
An ocean is ])i-eparcd. 
While Irom l)elow 
Tiic deep sliall rise to meet heaven's ovcrllow. 

J''ew shall he spared, 
It seems; and, of that few, the race of Cain 
Must lift thc'ir eyes to Adam's God in vain. 
Sifter ! since it is so, 
And the olcrnal Lord 
\n vain would he implored 
For the remission of one hour of woe, 
Eet us resign even what we have adored. 
And meet the' wave, as we would meet the sword. 

If not unmoved, yet undisniay'd, 
And wailin-- less for lis than those who shall 
.Survive in morlal or immortal thrall. 

And, when the fatal waters are allay'd, 
■\yeep lor the myriiuls who can wecj) no'more. 
Ely, Seraphs! to yf)ur own eternal shore, 
Where winds nor"howl nor waters roar. 
Our portion is to die, 
And \oiirs to live for ever: 
Eut which is best, a dead eternity. 
Or living-, is hut known to the great Giver. 
Obey Him, as we shall obev ; 
I would not keep this life of mine of clay 
An hour l)cyond His will; 
Nor see ve lose; a, jjortion of His grace, 
]''or all tlic niercv which Weill's race 
E'ind still. 
Ely ! 
And as your pinions bear yo back to licaven, 
Think that my love still mounts with thee on high, 

Saniiasa! 
And if I look u)) with a tearless eve, 
'Tis that an angel's bride disdains" to weep — 
Farewell ! Now rise, inexorable Deep ! 
Auah. And must we die ? 

And imist I lose thee too, 

Azazicl ? 
Oh, my heart! my heart! 

'J'hy iirophccies'wcre true, 
And vet thou wert so hapjiy too! 
The blow, tliough not unlook'd for, falls as new: 
But yet depart! 
Ah ! why ? 
Yet let me not retain thee — fly ! 
My pangs can be but brief; but thine would bo 
Eternal, if repulsed from heaven for me. 
Too mucli already hast thou deign'd 



233 



234 HEAVEN AND EARTH. [parti. 

To one of Adam's race ! 
Our doom is sorrow ; not to us alone, 
But to the spirits who have not disdain'd 
To love us, Cometh anguish with disg:race. 
The first who taught us knowledge hath been hurl'd 
From his once archangelic throne 
Into some \inknowu world : 

And thou, Azaziel! No — 
Thou shalt not suffer woe 
For me. Away ! nor weep ! 
Thou canst not weep ; but yet 
!May'st sulfer more, not weeping : then forget 
Ilcr, wiiom the surges of the all-strangliug Deep 

Can bring no pang like this. Fly ! tiy ! 
Being gone, 'twill be less difficult to die. 

Japh. Oh, say not so ! 
Fatlier! and thou, arcliangel, thou! 
Surely celestial Mercy lurks below 
That pure sevei-c serenity of brow ; 
Let them not meet this sea without jjj<hore, 
Save in our ark, or let me be no more ! 

Noah. Peace, child of passion, peace ! 
If not within thy heart, yet with thy tongue 

Do God no wrong ! 
Live as He wills it — die when He ordains, 
A righteous death, unlike the seed of Cain's. 

Cease, or be sorrowful in silence; cease 
To weary Heaven's ear with tliy selfish plaint. 
Wouldst thou have God commit a sin for thee ? 
Such would it be 
To alter His intent 
For a mere mortal sorrow. Be a man ! 
And bear wliat Adam's race must bear, and can. 
Japh. Ay, father ! but when they are gone, 
Anil v/e are all alone. 
Floating upon tlic azure desert, and 
The depth beneath us hides our own dear land, 
And dearer, silent friends and brethren, all 
Buried in its immeasurable breast. 
Who, who, om- tears, our shrieks, shall then command ? 
Can we in desolation's peace have rest ? 
O God ! be Thou a God, and spare 
Yet while 'tis time ! 
Renew not Adam's fall ; 
Mankind were then but twain, 
But they arc numerous now as are the waves 

And the tremendous rain. 
Whose drops shall be less thick than would their graves, 
Were graves permitted to the seed of Cain. 
Noah. Silence, vain boy ! each woril of thine 's a crime! 
Angel! forgive this stripling's fond despair. 

Raph. Seraphs! these mortals speak in passion : ye, 
Who are, or should be, passionless and pure, 
May now return with me. 

Sam. It may not be : 

We have chosen, and will endure. 



sc-ENE III.] IIEAVEX AND EARTH. 235 

Baph. Sny'st thou ? 

Aza. He liatli said it, and I say, Amen ! 
Rapli. Again ! 

Tlicn from tliis hour, 
iShorn as yc arc of all celestial power, 
And alicMis from your God, 
Farewell! 
Japk. Alas ! where shall they dwell ? 

Hark, hark ! Deep sounds, and deeper still. 
Are howlinii' from the mountain's bosom : 
There 's not a breath of wind upon the hill, 

Yet quivers every leaf, and drops eaeh l)lossom : 
Earth groans as if bcuieath a heavy load. 
Noah. Hark ! hark ! the sea-birils cry ! 
In clouds they overs])rea 1 the lurid sky. 
And hover round the mountain, where before 
Never a white wing, wetted by the wave. 

Yet dared to soar. 
Even when the waters wax'd too fierce to brave. 
Soon it shall be their only shore, 

And then, no more ! 
Japh. The sun ! the sun ! 

)Ie riscth, but his l)otter light is gone, 
And a black circle, bound 
His glaring disk around, 
Proclaims Earth's last of summer days hath shone ! 

The clouds return into the hues of night, 
Save where their brazen-colored edges streak 
The verge where brighter morns were wont to break. 

Noah. And lo ! yon Hash of light. 
The distant thunder's harbinger, appears! 

It cometh ! hence ! away ! 
Leave to the elements their evil prey ! 
Hence to where our all-hallowed ark uprcars 
Its safe and wrecklcss sides. 
Japh. Oh, father, stay ! 
Leave not my A nab to the swallowing tides ! 

Noah. Must we not leave all life to such r Begone ! 
Japh. Not I. 

Noah. Then die 

With them ! 
How darest thou look on that prophetic skv. 
And seek to save what all things now comlcmn. 
In overwhelming unison 
With just Jehovah's wrath ? 
Japh. Can rage and justice join in the same path ? 
No'ih. Blasphemer! darcst thou murmur even now ? 
Raph. Patriarch, be still a father ! smooth thy brow : 
Thy son, despite his folly, shall )iot sink : 
He knows not what he says, yet shall not drink 

With sobs the salt foam of the swelling waters ; 
But be, when Passion passeth, good as thou. 

Nor perish like Heaven's children with Man's daughtei-s. 
Aho. The tempest cometh ; Heaven and Earth unite 
For the annihilation of all life. 
Uuequal is the strife 



23 G HE A VEX AND EARTH. [part i. 

Between our strength and the Eternal ]Mip:ht ! 

Sam. But ours is with thee : wc will hear yc far 
To some untroubled star, 
Where thou and Anah shalt partake our lot : 

And if thou dost not weep for thy lost earth, 
Our forfeit heaven shall also l)e forgot. 

Aruih. Oh ! my dear ftithcr's tents, my place of bii-th ! 
And mountains, land, ami woods! when yc are not, 
Who shall dry up my tears ? 

Aza. Thy Spirit-lord. 

Fear not; though we are shut from heaven, 
Yet much is ours, whence wc can not be driven. 

Raph. ilebel ! thy words arc wicked as thy deeds 
Sliall henc'^tbrth bo but weak : the tiamiag sword, 
Which chased the first-born out of Pai'adise, 
Still Hashes in the angelic hands. 

-■i.:«. It cannot slay us : threaten dust with death, 
And talk of weapons unto that which lileeds ? 
Vv'hat arc thy swords in our immortal eyes ? 

Raph. The monieut cometh to appi'ove thy strength; 
And learn at length 
How vain to war with what thy God commands. 
Thy former force was in thy faith. 

Enter ]Mortals, fyingfor refuge. 

ChortlS of INIORTALS. 

The heavens and earth are mingling — God ! O God ! 
What have we done ? Yet spare ! 
Hark! even the forest bcast-s howl forth their prayer! 
The dragon crawls from out his den, 
To licril, in terror, innocent with men ! 
And the l)irds scream their agony through air. 
Yet, yet, -Ichovah ! yi- 1 withdraw Thy rod 
Of wrath, and pity thine own world's despair ! 
Hear not IVIan only but all Nature pleail ! 

Raph. Farewell, thou earth! Ye wretched sons of clay, 
I can not, must not, aid you. 'Tis decreed ! 

[Exit Raphael. 

Japh. Sonic clouds sweep on as vultures for their prey, 
Wliile others, tix'd as rocks, await the word 
At which their wrathfid vials shall be pour'd. 
No azure more shall robe the firmament, 
Nor spangled stars be glorious : Death hath risen : 
In the Sun's place, a pale and ghastly glare 
Hath wound itself around the dying air. 

Aza. Come, Anal'. ! quit this chaos-founded prison. 
To which the elements again repair, 
To turn it into what it was : beneath 
The shelter of these wings thou shalt be safe, 
As was the eagle's nestling once within 
Its mothci-'s. — Let ihe coming chaos chafe 
With, all its elements! heed not their din! 
A In-ighter world than this, where thou shalt breathe 
Ethereal life, will we explore: 
These darken'd clouds arc not the only skies. 



-iCENE HI.] HEAVEN AND EARTH. 



237 



[AzAziEL a7id Samiasa /y of, and disappear with 
Anah and Aholibamaii. 
Japh. They arc gone ! They have disappcar'd amidst the 

Of the forsaken world ; and never more, 
\\ hether they live, or die with all earth's life, 
Isow near its last, can aught restore 
Auah unto these ejxs. 

Chorus of iSIoRTALS. 
Oh, son of ISToah ! mercy on thy kind • 
What, wilt thou leave us all— all— a^? behind ? 
VV hile sale amidst the elemental strife, 
Thou sitt'st within thv guartled ark ? 
A Mother {offer in,/ her infant to Japhet). Oh, let this child 
embark ! 
I brought him forth in woe. 

But thought it joy 
To see him to my Ijosom clingino- so. 
Why was he horn ? " " 
What hath he done — 
My unwean'd son — 
To move Jehovah's wrath or scorn ' 
\\ hat IS there in this milk of mine, that Death 
bhould stir all heaven and earth up to destroy 

My bov, 
And roll the waters oVr h'is placid breath ? 
bavc him, thou seed of .Setli ! 
Or cursed be— witli Ilim who made 
Thee and thy race, for \vhich we are Ijctray'd ' 
Japh. Peace ! 'tis no hour for curses, but for prayer! 

Chorus of Mortals. 

For prayer ! ! ! 
And where 
Shall praver ascend 
N\ hen the swoln clouds unto the mountains bend 

And burst, 
And gushing oceans every barrier rend, 
Until the very deserts know no thirst'l 
Accurst 
Be He who made thee and thy sire ! 
We deem our curses vain; we must expire; 

But as we know the worst. 
Why should our hymn be raised, our knees be bent 
Beiore the implacal)le Omnii)oteut, 
Since we must fall the same ? 
If lie hath made earth, let it be His shame 
lo make a world for torture.— Lo ! they come 
The loathsome waters, in their rage !" ' 

Ami with their roar make wholesoine Nature dumb » 

I he lorest's trees (coeval with the hour 
>\ hen Paradise upsprung-. 

Ere Eve «ave Adam knowledge for her dower 
Or Adam his first hymn of slavery sung), ' 



238 heave:'! and earth. [i-akt I. 

So mass_y, vast, yet prrccn in their old age, 
Are ovcrtopp'il, 
Their sinnincr blossoms by the surges lopp'd. 
Which rise, and rise, and rise. 
Vainly wc look up to the louring skies — 

They meet the seas. 
And siuit out God from our besecchinfr eyes. 
Fly, son of Noah, ily ! and take thine ease 
In thine allotted ocean-lent ; 
And view, all lloatinjJT o'er tlie element, 
The corpses of the world of thy youn^' days : 
Then to Jehovah raise 
Thy soxv^ of praise ! 
A Mortal. Tdcssed arc the dead 
M'ho die in the l>ord! 
And though the waters be o'er earth outspread, 
Yet, as His weu'd, 
l?c the decree adored ! 
lie save me life— Tie taketh but 

The breath wliich is His own; ^^ 
And thou^li these eyes should be for ever shut, 
Nor Ionizer this weak voice before His throne 
Be heard in supplicating tone, 
Still blessed be the Lord, 
For wliat is jiast. 
For that which is : 
For all are J lis, 
Fi'om first to last — 
Time — space — eternity — life — death — 

The vast known and immcasurabk' utdinown 
He made, and can unmake ; 
And shall /, for a little gasp of breatli, 

151aspheme and groan ? 
No; let me die, as 1 have lived, in failli. 
Nor quiver, tliough the universe may quake. 

Chorus of ]MoRT.u^s. 

Where shall we fly ? 
Not to the mountains high ; 
For now their l(n-rents rush, with double roar, 
To meet the ocean, which, advancing still. 
Already grasps each drowning hill, 
Nor leaves an unsearch'd cave. 

Enter a Woman. 
Womnn. Oh, save me, save ! 
Our valley is no more : 

IMy I'atiici- and my father's tent. 
My brethren ;uid my brethren's herds, 

Tlie pleasant trees that o'er our noonday bent 
And sent forth evening songs from sweetest birds. 
The little rivulet wdiich fresheu'd all 
Our ]iastures green. 
No more avr to be seen. 
When to the mountain clitf'I climb'd this morn, 
J turn'd to bless the spot, 



SCENE III.] HEAVEN AND EARTH. 239 

And not a leaf appcar'd about to fall ; — 

And now they are not! 
Why was I horn ? 

.hipli. To die ! in youth to ilic ! 

And li;ip)iier in that doom, 
Than to hchold the universal tomb 

Whieh I 
Am thus condcnm'd to weep above in vair.. 
Why, when all perish, why must I remain ? 

\_The Waters rise ; Men fly in cverrj directi'>n , many are orer- 
taJicn by the luaves. The Chorus of Xr.nrials Jisperses in 
search of safety up the Mountains ; .LVi'liE'r remains upon 
a rock, tohile the Ark floats ioivards hint in the distance. 



CAIN: 

A MYSTERY. 



Now llio ScriH'iit viis moiv siilililo llinn iiM.v licast of tho lUUI vliiili tlio Lorii 
(.toil had tiiiiilo."— UCNKSIS, ill. 1. 



SIR WALTKR SCOTT, BART., 

THIS MYSTKKV Ol' CAIN IS INSriilllKD, 

BY MIS »iii.Uii:i> viuicNn, akp r.viTiiKi'i. si;i!vant. 

Till', Arriunj. 



TllK tbUowlnir scoiios nroenfltloil "A Mystory," In coiUiinulty with tlio nndpiit 
tlllo imiu'xi'il to ilniiuiis ui>oii slinlliu' suhji'ots, wliloh >voro styK'il " Mystorios, 
01' llonilltlos." Tlu' aulhor lias by no moans takon tlio sanio lllu'riU's with his 
siihjorl which wore i-onunou fonnorly, as may ho soon by any roailor oni'ious 
onoiiKh to rotor to ilioso vory pi-olUno iniMiuollons, whothor In KukHsIi, Kronoh, 
Italian, or Spanish. Tho nnlhor has omloavoivd to prosorvo tho lanj,'nagu 
uitaiuoil to his oharaolovs; and whoro II Is (anil this Is hut raroly) takon tVom 
aolnal Srri/>tiirc. ho has mailo as lllllo alloratlon, ovon of words, as tho rhythm 
woiiUl poruilt. Tho roailor will roooUoot that tho Uook of Oonosis iloos not stato 
tlittt Kvo was tomptoil liy a ilomon, but by " tho sorpont; "' anil that only booanso 
lio was '" tho most snhtllo of all tho boasts of tho IloUl." Whatovor Intorprotatlou 
tho Itahhlns and tho Kathors may havo pnt upon this, 1 lako tho words as 1 llnd 
thom. and loply, with lUshop Watson upon similar oooaslons, whon Iho Kathors 
woro nuoioil to him, as Jlodoralor In tho schools of t'andirldKO, " lU'hold tho 
Hook!"— hoUlhi},' np tho Sorlptnro. It Is to lio rocollootod that my prosont sub- 
Joot has nothing to do w lib tho yrir Ti'staiiietit, to which no roforcnoo can ho horo 
luado wllhont anachronism. With the puoms upon simdar topics 1 have not 

•110 



cAry. o|^ 

liccn rocciitly familiar. SInco I was twoiity, I Imvo iipvor read Mlllon; Inn t 
liiiil I'cad lilm NO IVi'i|ii('iilly bclbi-d, llial, tlilH may iiiakd lllll<( iIIII'i'I'i'ikm'. (ics 
iior's "Dcatli olAliel"! Iiavn run'cr rtMitl sliico I was oIkIiI years ol' aye, af 
Al)(M-(l('('ii. 'I'lifi t'Oiicral liiiprciHKloii of my n^collccllon Im ili'llulil; l)iil of dm 
conli'iits I rcmpiiibor only that Cain's wlfowaH calliMl Maliala, iiiiil Alicl's Tlilrza, 
111 tliiMollowliiB patfcs 1 liavc culled tliem "Adali" and " Zlllali," tlin oarlles', 
femaht iiameH which occur In (icnosiM; they wore IIioho of Lameeh's wlvt^s: 
those of ("iiln and Abnl nro not called hy their names. Whether, then, a coin- 
cidence of siiliject may Imvo oaiiHcd the same In expression, I know nothhiK, 
and earn an little. 

'I'lie rejider will plonsn to bear In mind (wnat few choose to recoiled), iIimI 
there Is no allusion to a future slate In any of the books of Mos<m, nor hnlccd In 
iIjc Old 'I'eNtiiment. I'Njr a renson for lids (extraordinary otnlsslon, ln! may 
i-unsull Warbtu'lon's "Divine I,(witlou ; " wla^llicr sullhliiclory or nol, no heller 
has yel been asslKned. I have therefore supjiosed II m(.'W to Cain, wjlliout, r 
ho|i<', any perversion of Holy Writ. 

With regard to fh(^ InHBUUifo of Lnelfer, It wiis dllllcidt for me to niMlic him hilk 
like a (^ler«yman upon the siiiiie siilijects; but I have iI(]Mc whal I coMld to 
restrain him within the bounds of spiritual politeness. 

If he disclaims having tempted Kve In the shape of llie Serpenl, II Is oid,\' Ijc- 
cauHc the I!(]ok of Cenesis has not the most dlslunt allusion lo .uiylhliiK of Iho 
kind, but merely to the Serpent hi his si'rpenllnc capacity. 

Note.— 'I'hr renilcrwill perceive thai Ihi' inilhor has piirlly ad.iplerl Iji Ihiu 
poem the nolliai of I'livler, that the world had been destroyed s(!veral times he- 
fonU he creation of man. This specniiillon, derived from tlut dllt'erenl strata 
and the bones of enormous and unknown animals found in Ihem, Is not contrary 
to the Mosaic acconnl, lail ralhei- conllrms 11 ; us no hiimitn liones have yel bi'en 
discovered 111 those striila, allhou^'ll those of many known animals are loiiiid 
near the remains of the iiiiknown. 'I'he ussorflon of Ijiclfer, that Uw pre- 
Adamlte world was also peopled by rational ladiiffs niiicli more liiteill(,'eiit than 
man, and proporllonahly powtMfiil lo the mammoth, &c. Ac, Is, of course, a 
poetical llciion lo lielp him to niak(! out Ills case. 

I ouKht to add.lhat then^ Is a " tramcloKedIa" of Alllerl, (iiIIimI "Ahele."— I 
have never read tliat, nor any other of the iiostliumous work« of the writer, 
except his Life. 

16 



CAIN. 



IDramnti's ^PcrsciiuT. 

Men. Spiritti. lyoincn. 

Adam. Ancu:!, or tiik LtThd. Kvk. 

Cain. Lvcifeu. Adah. 

Abel Zillau. 



ACT I. 



S C K N K I . 

'J'hf Land without Paradise — Timi', Siinritse. 
Adam, Evk, Cain, Abki,, Adah. Zu.laii, ojf'crin;/ a Sacrijtcc, 

Adam. Ooil, tlio Eternal ! Iiilinito! All-wise! — 
^Vilo out ('(■ darkness on the deep ilidst make 
l,ii:lit on tlie wati'is witti u won!- all hail! 
Jeiiovah, with returning'' I'^ht, all hail! 

I'.rc. (ioil! wlio iliilst name the day, and separate 
]Morninj;- from ni^ht, till then divided nevei- — 
"Who didst divide the wave IVom wave, and t-a".! 
I'ai'l of Tin- work the firmament — all hail ! 

Ahci. t;od! who didst eall the elements into 
Earth — oei'an — air- -and lire, and with the day 
And iii^ihl, and worlils, which Ihest- illuminate. 
Or sluulow, madesl i)eini;s to enjm' tliem. 
And love hoth them and Thee— all hail ! all hnil ! 

Adali. (iod, tlx' Eternal! Parent of all things! 
Who didst eri'ate tlu'se hesi and heanteous hein^s. 
To he l)eloved, more than all, save Thee— 
Eel nu' love 'I'hee and tiiein :— All hail ! all hail ! 

Zil/iih. () (iod! who lo\ inj:', niakinu', hlessin^' all. 
Yet didst permit the Ser|H'nt to creep in. 
And dri\e my father fortii from I'aradise, 
Keep us from further evil : — Hail ! all hail ! 

Adam, (Son Ciiiu, mv lirst-horn, wherefore art thou silent ? 

•Ji2 



HCKNK 1.] CAIN. 243 

Cain. Why sliouM I Mpcalv ? 

Adam. To i)riiy. 

(■din. Have yc not pniy'd ? 

Adian. \\\- liavc, most fervently. 

Ciiiii. And loiiilly : 1 

Have lieard yoii. 

Adam. SowilMiod, I liMi.st. 

Abel. Amen! 

Adam. Bnt tlion, my eldest i)orn, art silent still. 

Cain. 'Tis butter I should ho so. 

Adam. Whererore so ? 

Cain. 1 have nought to ask. 

Adam. Nor aught to thauk I'or ? 

Cain. No. 

Adam. Dost thou not live ? 

Cain. Must I not die ? 

^ /wv. Alas! 

The IVuit ol" our Corliidden tree l)e;;ins 
To fall. 

Adam. And we must feather it, a^aiu. 

(iod! why didst Thou i)laiit the tree of knowledi^c! r 
Cain. And whei'efore pluek'd ye not the tree of life .' 

Yc mij,''ht have then defied Ilim. 

Adam. Oii ! my son, 

lilasplieine not: these arc sei-pent.s' words. 

Cain. Wliv not ? 

The snake spokt^ tnith ; it was the trcu; of knowledge ; 
It was the ti'ce of life ; knowledge is good, 
And life is good ; and how ran liolh he evil ? 

Kvc. ^^v l)oy! thou speakest as I sjioki', in sin, 
I?efore thy hirth : let me not see niuew'd 
]\Iy misery in thine. I have repc'iitetl. 
]jet me n<it see my otl'spi-iiig fall into 
1"h(! snares lu'yond the walls of I'ai'adisc, 
AN'hieh e'en in ]'aradis(! destroy'd his parents. 
Content thee with what is. IJad W(! been so. 
Thou now liaclst been eontented. — Oh, my son I 

Admit. Our orisons completed, let us hcn<-e, 
Each to his task ol' toil — not heavy, though 
Needful : the earth is young, anil yields us kindly 
IJcr fruits with little labor. 

Ere, Cain, my 8(jn, 

I{eh<ild thy father ehcerful and resign'd. 
And do as he doth. 

{/■Lrninf. A DAM a7id Eve. 

Zif/'i/i. Wilt thou not, my brother ? 

Ahrl. Why wilt thou wear this gloom upon thy brow, 
AV'hieh can avail thee nothing, save to rouse 
The Eternal anger ? 

AdaJi. My beloved Cain, 

A\'ili thou frown even on luc ? 

Cain. No, Adah ! i\o; 

1 fain would bo alone a little wliih;. 
Abel, I'm sick at heart; but it will pass. 
I'recede nu.', jjrothcr — 1 will i'oUow shortly. 
And you, too, sisters, tarry not behind; 



2>1 1 f.trv. [act r. 

YiMir j^oiitlenoss musl iidt hi' liiirshly met : 
I'll I'liUdw vim iiiion. 

A<l<i/i. ' If iiol, 1 will 

Koliirn to soi'k you Iuto. 

Ahrl. Tlu" iH>:u'o ot' (ioil 

Ik' on your spirit, IuoIIut! 

I l:.rritiit AnKi,, /u-LAii, (r«(/ Adau. 

<\iiii (xo/us). Auil this is 

l/il'o! Toil! Mud w luTclovc should 1 toil ?— iK'causc 
My I'iithcr could uol keep his placo in ImK'U. 
\\'h;it had / dono iu this? — 1 was uniioiu : 
1 souji'ht not to ho horn; nor lovo tho state 
'I'o which that hirth has hi-onjrht nic. Why did he 
Yield to the seipeut and the woman ? or, 
Yieldini;-, why sull'ev ? What was liu-re in this ? 
The tree was iilanted, and why not tor liiui ? 
It" not, why place him near it, where it ^rew, 
The fairest in the centre ? Thev have hut 
<.)ne answer to all tpu-stions, " ''I'was Ilix will, 
And llr is u'ood." How know I that ? Ileeanso 
lie is all-iiowerfnl, must all-i;i>od, too, tnllow ? 
1 jmltie hut hy the fruits— and they are hitter— 
AN'iiieh 1 must feed on lor a fault not mine. 
\\*hom lia\e we here ? — A shape like to the angels, 
Yet of a sterner n\u\ n sadder aspect 
Of spiritual essence : why ilo 1 quako ? 
"Why sluMdd I fear him more than other sinrits, 
'Whom 1 see dail\' wave their lierv swonls 
lU-foie the f^ati's'rouud which 1 li'uuer oft. 
In twilight's hour, to catch a glimpse of those 
(iardens which are my just inheritance, 
Kre till- night closes li'cr the inhihiled walls 
And the imnuirlal trees which overtop 
The eheruhim-defeiuled hattlements ? 
If 1 shrink uol from tlu'se, the lire-arm'd iingels, 
Why should 1 (|uai! from him who now ajiproachcs ? 
Yd he seems mighlici' fai' than tliem, nor less 
Beauteous, and yet uol all as heautiful 
As he hath iieen, and might he: sorrow seems 
Half of his immortulity. And is it 
8o ? and can aught grieve save humanity ? 
He Cometh. 

Ivnfer Lucii'KU. 

Liiiifcr. TMortal ! 

I'diii. Sjiirit, who art thou ? 

Luci/rr. Master of Spirits. 

Vah'i. And heing so, canst thou 

Leave them, and walk wilh ilust ? 

l.in'ifrr. I know the thoughts 

Of dust, and feel fiu' it, ami with you. 

Cain. How! 

Yon know my thoughts? 

I.ucifir. They are the thoughts of all 

Worthy of thought ; — 'tis your immortal part 
\\hieh speaks withiu you. 

Vain. What imnuirtal part ? 



CMS. 



2\'^ 



Tliis liMH not l)C'nn rcvi-iilril : llii> hvc nf liln 
^\'lls willilii'lil tVoin MM liy my r!illiri'',s lolly, 
While llinl of l<ii(i\vlcil;ii!, Iiy iiiv iiiollicr's liiistf, 
W'jis pliir-k'd loo Hooli ; iiiid I'lll \\n: IViiil is ilc:illi ! 

Lucifer. 'I'licy liltvi' c|cc<'ivc(l tine; llioii sIkiII live. 

('aiii. ' I livo, 

IJilt, live lo dii' : mid, liviiii;, si'c no Ihiii^r 
To iii;d<i' di'iilli linlrfnl, smvc nil iiiliMic ciiii^jili;^', 
A lo.'illisoiiic, mid yrt id! iiiviiii'ibii^ 
Insliiicl, of lifi', wliicli I iihlior, ux I 
I)cHi)iM<? iiiVH('ir, vl. ('iinnol ()V(!r('omn — 
AikI HO I live. U'oiild I iiiid ti(!V(!i' livod ! 

I.uiifir. 'I'lioii livfs(, mid imiinI live lor ever: Uiiiik iir)t, 
Tlic ciii'th, which i-i lliiiic oiilwiird cov'riii;^', is 
J•;\i^tl•l|(•^ il, will ciMsc, Mild Ihoil will, Ik; 
»() less Ihmi Ilioii ml now. 

(,'ttiii. NoA'.v.v/ mid why 

No riioic; ? 

J^urif'cr. Il, iniiy \n: thou hIiiiII, he iis wis. 

('aiii. And y(; J 

J.vrifrr. Arc; cvcrliiMlinf,''. 

(Uiiii. A I'd y(! liii|>i>y ? 

Lucifer. Wc iiri; ini;;lity. 

('ain. Arc yc linpiiy ? 

Lucifer. ' ' No: ml Ihoii ? 

('■ain. How Hlioidd I he HO ? l,oi)k on nic ! 

Litrlfer. l'oorc|ii\'! 

And Ihoii prclciidcHi to he wn'lch<d ! Thou ! 

('din. I am : — mid llioii, willi nil thy mi;^lil, whul arl. thou ? 

Lucifer. One who iis|iircd to he what, iiiiidc t,ln;c;, iiml 
Would not liitvc made Ihcc what thou art. 

('ain. Ah! 

Thou look 'st almost a j^nxl ; and 

Liicifir. I am noni; : 

And li:i\iii;.'- I'liird to he one, would he non;:lil 
Have what lain. lie (Hjnfjucr'd ; h't I liiii rci;;ii ! 

(Uiin. Who? 

Lucifer, Tliy wire's Maker, and Hie earlh'M. 

(Uiiii. _ And heavcn'n, 

Ami all that in them Ih. Ho I have heard 
ilis seraphs sinj,"'; and no my father sailli. 

I.ucifer. They sav — what they niiiHl Hin^' and Hay, on pain 
Of hein;,' that wliii'fi I am — and llioii art — 
(M° HpirilH anil of men. 

(Uiin. And what is that ? 

Lucifer. Souls who dare use tluMr immortality — 
Bonis who dare look the Ouinipolcnl tyrant in 
His everlastin;,'' fai'c, and lell Ilini, that 
Jlisevil is not ;jr)o(l ! If lli; has made, 
As Il(; sailli — whii'li I know n<it, nor helii;v(; — 
JJut, if lie made us lie ciinnot iinmakcr; 
^\'c are imiiiorlal ! niiy. He'd hare us so. 
That I |e may torture : let llim! I le is ;;i'(!at — 
I'liit, in Ills ;^'reiitness, is no happier lluiii 
We in oiireonlliel ! (Joodness would not make 
Evil ; and what else hath He uiude ? Jint let ilim 



,24 () CAiy. [act I. 

Sit on His vast ami solilaiy throne, 

Crcaliii;;' worlil-*, ti> iiiakr otornity 

Loss hunli'iisoiiic to His ininnMiso existence 

Aiul lilili!irli('i|)ati'il solitildf! 

I.ii Him criiwil orli on oi'l): lie is alone 

lniU'liiiite,.in(lissolnl)lt' tyrant ! 

C'oulil lie Itut crush lliniscif, 'twere the best boon 

lie ever Liranted : hnt, let llini reijjn on, 

And nuiltiiily IliniscU" in niiscrv! 

Spitils aiiil nu'n, at U'ast \vc svinjiathizc — 

Anil, sutVcrint:' in concci't, make our inuij^s, 

Innumerable, nun'i- eiulurahle, 

\W the nnlioniiileil sympathv of all — 

^\'ilh all! Hut //,'/■ so wre'tclie.l in His hciojit, 

80 restless in His wretelu'ilncss, must still 

Create, iiml re-create 

(\iiii. Thou spcaU'st to me of things which Ion;;- have swum 
\n visions thnui^h my tiiouuht : I never eouKl 
]{cconcile wliat I saw with what 1 hearii. 
;Mv lather and my mother talk to nic 
Ol'seriients, and of fruits and trees: I-sce 
The ^ates of what they call their I'aradisc 
(inardcd by liery-swordeil cherubim, 
Mliich shut them out, and me: I feel the weight 
Of daily toil and constant tlioughl : I look 
Around a world where I st'cm nothiui:', witli 
'rhout;hts which aiise within me, iis if they 
CouKl master all things: — hut 1 lluiuj;ht iilono 
1'his misery was niiiir. — Mv father is 
Tamed down; my mother has loi';;ot the mind 
M'hieh made luM- thirst for knowlcdL;e at the risk 
(•fan I'tcrual curse; my bi'othcr is 
A watchinj;- shciiherd bov, who otVers up 
The firstlinfjs of tlie tlock to Him who bids 
The earth yiidd nothini;- to us without sweat; 
INly sister /illah sinys an carlii-r hymn 
Than the birds' matins; ami my Adah, my 
Own and lu'loved, she, too, understands not 
The mind \\ hicli o\ I'rwhclms me : never till 
Kow met 1 auuht to syuijiathize with me. 
'Tis well — I rather woultl consort with spirits. 

Lucifer. And hadst thou not been lit by tliiue own soul 
Fm' such com]iauionshi|), I would not now 
llavi- stood before thcc as I am : a st-rpiMlt 
Had been enonu'h to charm ye, as before. 

Cain. Ah! didst /Ao/f tempt my mother? 

Lucifer. ' I tempt none, 

Rave with the truth : was not the tree, the tree 
Of knowledge ? and was not the tree of life 
Still fruitful ? Did I bid iier jiluck them not? 
Did / plant things |irohihilcd within 
The I'each of lnMn^;s innocent, and curious 
i\y their own innoci'ucc ? 1 would have nnule yo 
(ioils; and even He who thrust ye forth, so thrust yo 
lloeause "ye should not eat the fruits of life. 
And become ti'-'^l!' it's We." Were those His words ? 



BC'ENE 1.] CAIN. 247 

Cain. They were, ;is I have lieard from those who lieard (Iiein, 
In thiiiidcr. 

IjHcif'er. Tlii'ii who wiis (he demon ? He 
A\'lio woiihl not let ye live, or lie wlio wouKl 
Have made ye live for ever ill the joy 
Anil )»)wt'r of kiiowledg'c ? 

(Uiiii. Would they liad nnaleli'd both 

The I'ruits, or neither! 

Lucifer, One is yours uh'eady ; 

The oilier may be still. 

('dill. IIow so ? 

Liiritfr. By beinf^ 

'i'oiMschr-i, i]i your resistaneo. Nothing' {'an 
Queiieli the iiiiiiil, if the mind will be itself 
Anil (•eiitre of surrouiidiiiy lliinj^s — 'tis made 
To sway. 

Cdiii. But didst thou temjjt my parents ? 

Lucifer. I ? 

Poor clay ! what should I tempt them for, or how ? 

Cain. They say the serpent was a spirit. 

Lueifitr. Who 

8aitli that ? It is not written so on hiij;]i : 
1'he Proud One will not so far falsity, 
I'liDii^^h man's vast fears and little vanity 
AV'ould niaUe him cast upon the sjiiritual nature 
His own low failing,''. The snake was the snake — 
No more, and yet not less than those he tempted, 
In nature hein^c earth also — iiiore in wisdom, 
(Since In; eoulil overcome them, and foreknew 
The knowlcd^re fatal to their narrow. joys. 
Thiuk'st thou I 'tl take the sha|H: of thirgs that die ? 

Cain. IJut the thing had a demon ? 

Lneifer. He but woke oac 

III those he spake to with his forky tongue. 
I toll thee that the serpent was no more 
Than a mere serpent : ask the cherubim 
Who guard the tempting tree. When thousand ages 
Have roll'd o'er your deiid ashes, and your seed's, 
The seed of the then woi'ld may thus array 
Their earliest fault in fable, and attribute 
To me a shajie I scorn, as I scorn all 
That hows to Him, who made things but to bend 
Before His sullen, sole eternity; 
But we who see the truth must speak it. Thy 
Fond parents listen'd to a eree|)iiig thing, 
And fell. For what should spirits ti'inut them .'' What 
^\'as there to cnivy in the narrow bouu'.ls 
Of I'aradise, that sjiirits who iiervade 

>S)iace but I sjieak to thee of what thou know'st not, 

"With all thy tree of knowledge. 

( 'uiit. But thou canst not 

.Sjicak aught of knowledge which I would not know, 
And do not thirst to know, and bear a mind 
To know. 

Liirifcr. And heart to look on ? 

Cain. Be it proved. 



248 CAiy. [act 1. 

Lurifir. Darcst thou to look on Death ? 

t'aiii. lie has not yet 

Been seen. 

Lucifer. But must bo undergone. 

Cdiii. ^ly father 

Savs he is something (h-eadlul, and my inotlier 
Weeps when he is named; and Abel lii'ts his eyes 
To heaven, and Zillali easts hers to the earth, 
And sighs a prayer; and Adah looks on me, 
And speaks not. 

Lwift'i'' And thou ? 

Cain. Thoughts unsiieakahic 

Crowd in my Invast to hiiniing, whi'u I hear 
(.)l' this ahni'ghty Deatli, who is, it seems, 
Inevitalde. ( 'o"uld 1 wrestle w'ith him ? 
1 wrest leil with the lion, when a boy, 
In I'lav, till he ran ruariiiii' from my gripe. 

Liirifcr. It lias no shape : but will ali>orb all things 
That bear the I'orm of earth-born being. 

(\tin. Ah! 

I thought it was a being: who eould dor" 
(Sneli e\ il things to being save a being ? 

Lucifer. Ask the Destroyer. 

Caiii. Who? 

Lucifer. The ISIakcr — eall 1 liui 

Whieh" name tbon wilt; lie makes hut to destroy. 

Cain. 1 knew not lliat, yet thought it, sineo 1 heard 
Of death: although 1 know not wliat it is, 
Yet it seems liorribU-. 1 liave look'il out 
In llie vast desolate night in search of him; 
And wlien 1 saw gigantic sluulows in 
The luubrage of the walls of Edvn, eheciuer'd 
B.v the far-llashiu,;',' of the cherubs' swortls, 
1 wateh'd for what I thought his coming; for 
M'ith fi'ar rose Imiging in my heart to know 
■\\'liat 'twas whicii shook us ;dl — but notinng came. 
And then 1 turn'd uiy weary eyes from oil' 
Uur native and i'orliiddeu ParaiUse, 
I'p to the lights above us, in the azure. 
Which are so beautiful : sliall tiicy, too, die ? 

Lucifer, rerhaps— but kmg outlive both thine and thee. 
Cdiii. I'm ^lad of thai: 1 would not have them die — 
They are so lovely, \\hat is death ? 1 fear, 
I feel, it is a dreadlul thing; but- what, 
1 cannot compass : 'tis dcuouueed against us. 
Both them who sinn'd and sinn'd not, as an ill — 
"What, ill ? 

Lucifer. To be resolved into the earth. 
Cain. But shall 1 know it ? 

Lucifer. As I know not death, 

I cannot answer. 

('dill. Were 1 ipiiet earth. 

That were no evil: would 1 ne'er had been 
Aught else but dust! 

Lucifer. That is a grovelling wish. 

Less tiian thy father's, for he wi^li'd to know. 



SCENE I.] CA1\. 21t) 

Cain. Tint not to live, or wlicrcroro pliickM ho not 
The lifo-trcc? 

Lttcifer. lie wiis hindur'tl. 

Cain. DoiuUy error ! 

Not- to snateli first tluit fruit: — but ere lu; i)luc!lv'(l 
I'lie knowlcil^^e, lie was i;;iior:uit of duiitlu 
Alas! I scarcely now know wlial it is, 
Ami yet I I'eai- il — fear I know mil what! 

Liwifcr. And I, who know all Ihinj^s, fear nothing: see 
A\'liat is true knowledge. 

(■ain. Wilt thou tc.'ieli nic all ? 

Lwifcr. Ay, upon oiu; (condition. 

C^ain. Name it. 

Lucifer. 'I'liat 

Thou (lost fidl down and worship ni(^ — (hy Lord. 

Cain. Thou art not the jjord my father woi'ships. 

Lucifer. No. 

Cain.. J lis eipial ? 

Lucifer. No : [ Imve nouglitin coninion with Him! 

Nor would ; I would he aught ahove — heueath — 
Aught save a sharer or a servani of 
] I is power. I dwell apart; i)ut 1 am great ; — • 
IVlany there arc wiio worshi]) me, and more 
Who shall — be thou amongst the lirst. 

Cain. I never 

As yet liave bow'd uuto my father's God, 
Allliough my l)rothi'r Ahc^l oft inij)lores 
"i'liat I would join with him iusacriliee: — 
Why shoukl 1 how to thee ? 

Lucifer, llast, thou ue'i'r boweil 

To lliin ? 

Cain. Have 1 not said it ? — need I sa\' it ? 
Could not thy niiglilv knowledge tcacli Ih'ce thiit? 

Lucifer, lie who hows not to Ilim has how'd to me! 

Cain, liut 1 will bend to ni'ilher. 

Lucifer. Ne'er the less, 

Thou art my worshipper: not worshipping 
llim uudvcs thee mine the same. 

Cain. And what is that? 

Lucifer. Thou'lt know here — and hei-eat'lei-. 

Cain. Let me l)uk 

15c taught the mystery of my bi;ing. 

Lucifer. Follow 

Where I will lead thee. 

Cain. But I nnist retire 
To till the earth — for I had promised 

Lucifer. What ? 

('ain. To cull some lirst-fruits. 

Lucifer. Why ? 

Cain. To olfer up 

With Abel on an altar. 

Lucifer. Saidst thou not 

Thou iie'er hadst bent to llim who made thee ? 

Cain. Yc9— 
liut Abel's earnest prayer has wrought uiion me; 
The otl'eriu^f is more his than mine — and Adah 



250 <^-i^-^'- [-^^^Ti. 

Lucifer, Why ilost thou hesitate ? 

Cai/i. ' She is my sister, 

Born on tlic simie iliiy, of the same womb : ami 
yhc wrun^ from mo, with tears, this in-omise; 
iliither than see lier weep, I wuukl, methiuks, 
Bear all — and worship auj;ht. 

Lttcifer. Then follow mc ! 

Cain. I will. 

E»ter Adah. 

Adah. ^ly brother, I have come for thee ; 

It is our hour of rest anil joy — antl we 
Ilave less without thee. Tliou hast labor'd not 
This morn; but 1 have dime thy ta.sk : the fruits 
Are ripe, and ylo\\ in;^- as the li.nht which ripeus : 
Conic away. 

Cain. Seest thou not ? 

Adah. I sec an an<iel : 

We have seen many : will lie share our hour 
Of rest ? — he is welcome. 

Cain. But he is noHike 

The anjrels we have seen. 

Adah. Arc there, then, othei-s ? 

But he is wcleome, as they were : tliey deign'd 
To bo our finicsts — w ill he ? 

Cain (to Lucifer). ^^■ilt thou ? 

Lucifer. ' 1 ask 

Thee to be mine. 

Cain. T must away with him. 

Adah. And leave us ? 

Cain. Ay. 

Adah. ' And Hie? 

Cain. Beloved Adah ! 

Adah. Let me go with thee. 

Lucifer. No, she must not. 

Adah. Who 

Art thou that steppest between heart nnd heart ? 

Cain, lie is a god. 

Adah. How kuow'st thou ? 

Cain. He speaks like 

A pod. 

Adah. So did the serpent, and it lied. 

Lucifer. Thou errest, Adah !— was not the tree that 
Of knowledge ? 

Adah. Ay — to our eternal sorrow. 

Lucifer. And yetthat grief is knowledge — so he lied not' 
And if he did betray you, 'twas with truth; 
And trutli in its own "essence cannot be 
lUit good. 

Adah. But all we l<nt)w of it has gather'd 
Evil on ill : c\i>uNioii tVom our home, 
Ami dread, and toil, and sweat, and heaviness; 
Eemorse of that which was — and hope of that 
Which cometli not. Cain! walk not with this spirit. 
Bear with what we have borne, and love me — I 
Love tliee. 



SCENT3 I.] CAI\. ')')\ 

Tyucifer. TVroro (linn lliy Tiiothcr, and tli}' sire ? 

Adidi. 1 do. Is that a sin, too i 

Lucifer. No, not yet : 

It one day will lu' in vciiir cliildrcn. 

Adah. ' ■ What ! 

Must not niv ilau;:hlcr love her In-other I'hioeh ? 

Lucifer. Not as thou invest ( 'ain. 

Adah. Oil! my (foil ! 

Shall they not love, and hrin^^ lorlh thinjis lliat lovo 
Out of tlieir lovi; ? ha\(! they not drawn their milk 
Out of this liosoni ? was not he, Ihi'ir father, 
IJorn of the same sole womh, in the same hour 
With mo? Did we not love each other? and 
In nuiltii)lyin<,'' ouriiein^r ninltiply 
Things wliieh will love I'ach other as we love 
Them ? — And as I love thee, my Cain ! go not 
Forth with tills spirit; he is not of ours. 

Lucifer. 'I'lu? sin 1 speak of is not of my makinj,'. 
And eiuinot lie a sin in V(Jii — whate'er 
It scciii in those who will replace ye in 
Mortality. 

Adah. What is the sin which is not 
Sin in itself? Can eireuinstanee make sin 
(Jr virtue? — if it doth, we are the slaves 
Of 

Lucifer. Ilifilicr tliiiifi's than ye are slaves : and hij^dict 
Than tliein cr ye would \h) ho, did they not 
Prefer an indeiMiiideney of torture 
To the smooth a^i'onies of adulation. 
In hyniiis anil liari)int;s, and self-seeking prayers, 
1"o that which is omnipotent, hecaiise 
It is omnipotent, and not from love. 
But terror and self-hope. 

Ad((h. Omnijiotenec 

Must he all goodness. 

Lucifer. Was it so in Eden ? 

Adah. Fiend ! tempt me not with beauty ; thou art faire> 
Tlian was the serpent, and as false. 

Lucifer. As true. 

Ask Eve, your mother: bears she not the knowledge 
Of good and evil ? 

Ad((h. Oh, my mother ! thou 

Ilast iiliiek'd a fruit moi'e latal to thine olVspring 
Tlian to thyself; thou M the least hast pass'd 
Thy youth in J'aradise, in innocent 
And "happy intercourse with hapjiy spirits: 
l$ut we, thy children, ignorant of E(len, 
Are girt about by demons, who assume 
Tlic words of (;od, and tenifit us with our own 
I)i:i«atislied and curious Ihonghts — as thou 
Wert work'd on by the snaki:, in thy most (liish'd 
And heedless, harmless waiiloiiness of bliss. 
1 cannot answer this immortal thing 
Which stands bel'ore me; 1 cannot ablior him; 
1 look upon him with a pleasing fear. 
And yet 1 ily not from him -, ui his eye 



252 c.ux. [ACT I. 

Tlioiv is a lastoniiii,' attnirtion whii'li 

Fi\i's my llulti'iiiii;' ovos cm liis; my lioart 

lU'als (iiiick; lu' awi's iiu\ ami yi't drawn luc near, 

Nearer, ami iieaiei- : — Cain — t'aiu — save me IVom him! 

Caiit. What dreads my Adah ? This is uo ill spirit. 

Adah. He is not tJod — nor CJod's : 1 huve beheld 
The eherubs and the seraphs; he looks not 
Like them. 

Cain. l?nt there are spirits loftier still — 

The arehanj-els. 

J^iicif'cr. And still loftier than the archangels. 

Aihtli. \y — hut not blessct.1. 

Lucifer. If the blessedness 

Consists in slavery — no. 

Adah. T have heard it said, 

The seraphs /ore most — eherul>im know most — 
And this should be a eherub — siuee he loves not. 

Lucifer. And if the hij^her kuowleilyo ipienehes love, 
What must he lie you eannot love when known ? 
Since the all-knowinj;- eherubi\u love least. 
The scra))hs' love can be but i^novanesi: 
Tiiat I hey are not compatible, the iloom 
()f thy (and ^larents, for their dariiifi', proves. 
Choose betwixt love and kuo\vleilj;'e — since there is 
No other t'hoicc : your siri' hath t'hoseu already ; 
His worshii) is but fear. 

Adah. Oh, fain! choose love. 

(\iitt. For thee, my Adah, I choose not — it was 
Born with n»e — but 1 love nouyht else. 

Adah. Om- parents ? 

(■"((///. Did they love us when they snaleh'd from the tree 
That which hath driven us all from Panulise ? 

Addli. We were not born then— and if we had been, 
Should we not love them and our chiUlreu, t'ain ? 

Cain. My little Knoch ! and his lisping- sister! 
Could I but deem them haiMiy, I w>nild half 

Forux'l but it can uc\ cr be forut>Hcn 

Through twice a thousand generations! never 

Shall men love the remendirance of the man 

^Vho sow'd the seed of evil and mankind 

In the same hour! They jiluckM the tree of science 

And sin — and, not contciU with their own sorrow, 

Hegot me — thei — and all tiie few that are. 

Anil all the unnumber'd and iunumeralilo 

!Midlitudcs, millions, myriads, which may bo, 

To inherit agonies accumulated 

liv a"es!— and / nuist be sire of such things! 

Tliy oeauty and thy love — mv love and joy, 

The rapturous monunit and l"lie placid hour. 

All we love in our children and each oilier. 

But lead tlu'Ui and ourselves tluongh many years 

CM" sin and pain — or few, but still of sorrow, 

Intercheck'd with an instant of brief pleasure. 

To Oiath -the unknown! Melhinks the tree of knowledge 

Halli ii. t ('ulliUM its in-oiuise :- -if they sinn'd. 

At icasi tliev ought to have known all things that arc 



KCENE I.] CAiy. 

\\ lial (I,) ihry know ?— lliAt tlu'v mv iiiis(.riil)le. 
W liiil iircil ol siiiiUcs Mild Cniils lo tcMcli us Hint? 

Adah. I am not u r.lclicil, Cain, nnd iTllion 
\v oi't Iiii|)i)y 

rVm/. He 111,,,, l,,,,,pv^ (1,,,,,^ jilonc— 

I will liMvo noun-Ill (o ,|o will, iiappincss 
S\ liicli huinlik's mo luid mine. 

,, -''"'"^'•, ,, , Mono T ooiil.l not, 

^ovv'oiiM I.,. |,;i,,|,y : )„,( „.i||| ,1,,,^,. .i,.„i,n(l us, 
1 Hunk I could I),, .so, dcspid. oCilcalh, 
Wiiich, Jis 1 know it nol, 1 dread not, tliou"ii 
It scoms an mavI'iiI sliiidow— if I may 
-tudi,'-!' rnuii what I have heard. 

''"'■'/'■>■■ , And Ihoii eouldstnot 

A/iiiic, Ihoii say si, he happy ? 

„,<*'''"''• ,, , ', Mono! Oh, my (;od! 

Who could he happy and alone, or u-o,,,! ? 

To mc my sojiliiile seems sin; unless 

When I Ihink luiw soon j shall se.^ my hrollicr, 

Ills hrolher, and our children, and oiiV parents' 

l.iirith: Yet thy (lod is alone, and is lie happy? 
Lonely, and good ? *^ 

-I''"/'. lie is not so; He luitll 

J he aiifrcls imd tlio mortals to make hapjiy, 
And Ihiis heconies so in dill'iisiii;^' joy. 
W'hal else <'an joy he, lint the spreadin;;- joy? 

/A ^-"rV'''':- ■^^''' "''>■'""■ -^i''''. ""■ <'vilc iV-esh' from Edea: 
V)r ol his lirsi-horn son : ask your own heart: 
It is not traiKiuil. 

Adii/i. Alas! no! and you — 

Aiv you of lieayoii ? 

Lucifer. ]f I am not, inr|uiro 

Ihe cause of this all-spread injr happiness 
(Which you pro.'laiiu) oniii' all-oreat and .'oocl 
Maker o( iile and liyin;;- Illinois; it is 
llis secret, and JIu keeps it. We must hour, 
And some ol us resist, and hoth in yaiii, 
llis seraphs say; hut it is worth the Iria'l, 

Since hetter y not he wilhoiil : there is 

A wisdom in the spirit, which direi'ls 
To rit;ht, as In tln^ dim hlue air the eyo 
or you, yotin^r mortals, lic;j)ts at once upon 
The star which watches, welconiiiiM' |l,e morn. 

Adah. It is a heautiful star; 1 lovo it for its beauty. 

Liinfrr. And wliy not acloro ? 

. '^''"''■, , . ., , , Our father 

Adores the Invisible only. 

n/:!"'(''''*- •■ , , , ^^"* *'"^ symbols 

Ol the Inyisiiile iiro lIic; loveliest 

Of what is visible ; and yon bright star 
Is leader of the iiost of Iieaven. 
^ 4'}''l!:- Our father 

hiiith Unit he bus Ixdielil the (iod himself 
Who mmle him and our mother. 

^'•"■'■'/'•'■- I last Hum seen Iliin ? 



253 



254 CALX. [act I. 

Adah. Yes — in TTis works. 

Lucifer. l?ii( ill His being' ? 

Adah. No — 

Save in my falhor, wlio is (Joil's own image; 
Or ill His aiijiols, who arc like to tlioo — 
Ami hriizlitiT, yot k'ss boaiilit'ul and iiowi'rl'ul 
111 sci'iiiiiiL:' ; as llio sik-iil simiiy iiomi, 
All liulil llu'v look mioii lis; Init thou sooin'st. 
Liko 'Ui I'tluMval iiiulit, whore long- white clouds 
Streak the deep iiuiple, and uiuiiiiiiherM stars 
yi^anule the wonderl'ul nnsterioiis vault 
^^'iIh thiiiirs thai look as if they would he suns; 
80 heaulirul, uiiiiuiiil>er'd, and eiuleariii;:', 
Not da/./liui;-, and yet drawiii;;' lis to them, 
They till iii\ eyes with tear-;, and so dost thou. 
Thou seem st unhaiipv : do not make us so, 
And I will weep lor tliee. 

Lurifi-r. Alas! those tears! 
Couldst thou but know what iieeaiis will be shod 

Adtih. \\\ me r 

Lucifer. 1>\ all. 

Adali. ' What all? 

Lucifer. The million millions— 

The myriad myriads — the nll-jiooplod earth — 
The im|ieoiiled earth— and the o'er-iieopletl hell. 
Of whieh thv bosom i.i the j^'enu. 

Ada/i. ' OCaiu! 

This spirit eurseth us. 

Cain. TiOt him say on; 

Him will I follow. 

Ada/i. Whither? 

Lucifer. To a place 

V/iciicc he shall come haek to thee iii au hour; 
lUit in that hour see lhin,us of many days. 

Adah. How eau that be ? 

Lucifer. Hid not your Maker make 

Out of old worlds this now one in a few days ? 
And oauuot I, who aided in this work, 
Show in an hour what He hath made in many, 
Or hath destroyed in low ? 

Cain. ' Lead on. 

Adah. Will he. 

In sooth, return with an hour ? 

Lucifer. He shall. 

With us acts :uo exempt from lime, and we 
Can erowd etoruily into au hour, 
Ov stroleh an hour into eternity ; 
We breathe not by a mortal measurement — 
l>iu that 's a iu\ story. Cain, eome on witli me. 

Adah. Will lie return? 

Lucifer. Ay, woman ! he alouo 

Of mortals t'nuii that plaee (^t'lio first and l;ist 
\\'ho shall riMiiru, save Onk) — >hall oonie baek to thec, 
To make that silent and evpoetant world 
As poi>iilous as this : at present there 
Are few inhabitants. 



SCENIC I.] CAiy. 2i 

Adah. M'luTc ,hvcllcs( tlmii ? 

Lucifer. 'I'hniii-lKnit ;ill spacr. Wlirn: sliould I dwell ? 
Wliero II ro 
Tliy C!()(l or (ioils — llici'c iiiii I : mII lliinj,'-s iirc 
l)ivi(I('il Willi iiic; lil'i' and ilcadi iind liiiu — 
]-l('niil\-— mid licaviMi mid oiirt-li — and tli:il 
M'liicii \^ not licav(!H nor carlli, but jicoplcd willi 
'J'liose who once peopled or shall people liolh — 
'J'lK'se ;ir(! my re:dnis ! So (li:it I do divido 
Ills, and ))o,ssess a kinjrdoni which is not 
His. If I wcu-o not that whicii I have said, 
C'onld I sland here ? His anyels arc within 
Your vision. 

Adah. So they wore when the fair serpent 

Spoke M'illi oiir niolher lir.st. 

Ludf r. V:\\n\ thou hast heard. 

If Ihon dust Ion',' for knowlcd-e, I can sati;i(e 
'J'lial thirst; iiora-k thee to parlakc of fruits 
AN'hieli shall deprivu thee of a siiij^'lo ;;'ood 
The ( 'oiupieror has left thee. Follow me. 

Cain. iSpirit, 1 have said it. 

[/■'xrniit lAiVJFEii and Cain. 

Adah (follows, cxckdinimj) Cain! my Ijrother! Cain! 



ACT II. 

SCKNK r. 
'Ilir Alii/ss of Space. 

Cain. I tread on :iii', and sink not; yet T fear 
To sink. 

Lwifr. Have f:iilli in nic, aiid Ihon shall, he 
Home on the aii-, of wliii'h 1 am the prince. 

Vain. Can I do so without impiety ? 

Li(rifrr. IJelieve — and sink not ! doiiht — and perish! thus 
Would' run (he edict of the other Cod, 
A\'lio names mv, demon to ilis aiifi'els ; thev 
ICeho the sound to miseralile things, 
"Which, knowing,'' iion^^iit heyoiid their shallow scinses, 
AN'orship the word which strikes their ear, and deem 
.ICvil oi' ji'ood what is indchiimM to them 
Jn their ahasement. 1 will have nonesuch: 
AVorsliip or worship not, thou shall, behold 
I'he worlds hevoiid thy little world, nor be 
Amerced lor iloiibts beyond thy link' life, 
Willi torture of my dooming-. There will conic 
An hour, when, toss'd upon some water-drops, 
A man sliall say to a man, " JJeliiive in me, 
AntI walk tlu! waters; " and the man shall walk 
1'lie billows and be safe. 1 will not say, 
lU'lieve in me, us a conditional ereeil 
To save thee; but fly with me o'er the }rulf 
Of space an equal lli;;ht, and I will show 
What thou dar'st not deny — -the history 
Of past, and present, and of future worklo. 



2r)6 cAiy. [ACT It 

Cain. Oh, prod, or demon, or whatcVr thi>n art, 
Is yon our cartli ? 

Lucifer. Dost tlioii not recognize 

The dust which forniM voiir father ? 

Cain. Can it bo ? 

Yon small blue circle, swinginj; in far ether, 
"Willi an inferior circlet near it st.li, 
"Which l()()i<s like tliat which lit our earthly night ? 
Is this our Paradise ? Where are its walls, 
And Ihcv who guard them ? 

Lucifer. Point me out the site 

Of Paradise. 

Cain. IIow should I ? As we move 

Like sunbeams onward, it grows small anil smaller, 
And as it waxes lit lie, and then less. 
Gathers a halo round it, like the liglit 
"Whicli shone the roundest of the stars, when I 
Beheld them from the siiirts of Paradise ? 
Jlelhinlcs they both, as we recede from them, 
Aiijiear to join the innumerable stars 
"Which are around us ; anil, as wc mOVfc on, 
Increase their myriads. 

Li/cif'cr. And if there should be 

"Worlds greater than thine own, inhabited 
By greater things, and they themselves far more 
In number than the dust of thy dull earth, 
Though undti|ilicd to animated atoms, 
All liviuLT, and all doom'd to ilcath, and wretched, 
AVhat wouldst tliou think ? 

Cain. I should be proud of thought 

Which knew such things. 

fjicifer. But if that high thought were 
T>ink'd to a servile mass of matter, and. 
Knowing such things, aspiring to such things. 
And science still beyond them, were chain'd down 
To the most gross and jiclty paltry wants, 
All foul and fulsome, and the very best 
Of thine enjoyments a sweet degradation, 
A most enervating and filthy cheat 
To lure thee on to the renewal of 
presh souls and bodies, all foredoom'd to be 
As frail, and few so hapiiy 

Cain. ' Spirit! I 

Know nought of death, save as a dreadful thing 
Of which 1 have heard my parents speak, as ot 
A hideous heritage I owe to them 
No less than life ; a heritage not happj'', 
If I niiiy judge, till now. But, spirit! if 
It be as tliou hast said (and 1 witliin 
peel the prophetic torture of its truth), 
Here let nu- die : for to give birth to those 
Who can but sutVer many years, and the, 
Rethinks is merely i)ropagating death, 
And multiplying uuirder. 

Lucifer. Thou canst not 

AU die — there is what must survive. 



SCENE I.] "^ CAIN. ^2.bl 

Cain. ''^ The Other 

Spake not iif this unto my Ihtlicr, when 
lie sliut him i'orth I'rom I'uiadise, witli ileatli 
Written upon liis rorelifad. Hut at least 
I>et what is mortal of me perish, that 
I may he in tiie rest as an;4els are. 

Lncifcr. I am aiiji'elie : wouldst thou he as I am ? 

Cain. I know not what thou art : I see thy power, 
And see thou show'st mo thin<,fs lieyond my power, 
]>eyond all power of my horu I'aeulties, 
Althouf,'h inferior still to my desires 
And my eoiieeptions. 

Ltici'fcr. What arc they which dwell 

80 lunnhly in their pride, as to sojourn 
With worms in clay ? 

Cain. And what art thou who dwvllust 

So haufj^litily in s]iirit, and eanst range 
Nature and immortality — and yet 
Seem'st sorrowful ? 

Lucifer. I seem that wliieh I am ; 

An<l therefore do I ask of thee, if thou 
Wouldst he immortal ? 

Cain. Thou hast said, I must bo 

Immortal in despite of me. I knew not 
This until lately — hut siuec it must be, 
Tjetmc, or happy or nnhapp_v, learn 
To anticipate my inimortMlity. 

Liwifcr. Thou didst before I came upon thee. 

Cain. How ? 

Lucifer. By suileriuf^. 

Cain. And must torture be immortal ? 

Lucifer. We and thy sons will try. But now, behold.' . 
Is it not glorious .'' 

Cain. Oh, thou beautiful 

And unimajrinablc ether! and 
Ye muUii)lyin<j masses of increased 
And still increasinij; liffhts ! what arc ye ? what 
Is this blue wilderness of interminable 
Air, where ye roll aloufj:, as I have seen 
The leaves alonjr the limpid streams of Eden? 
Is your course measured for ye ? Or do ye 
Sweep on in your unbounded revelry 
Throu<,di an ai'rial universe of endless 
Expansion — at which my soul aches to think — 
Intoxicated with eternity ? 
O God ! O Cjiods ! or whatsoe'er ye are ! 
How beautiful ye are ! how beautiful 
Your works, or accidents, or whatsoe'er 
They may be ! Let me ilie, as atoms die, 
nf that they die,) or know ye in your mig'ht 
And knowled^fe ! My thoui,''hts are not in this hour 
Unworthy what I see, thou;ih my dust is; 
Spirit! let me expire, or see them nearer. 

Lucifer. Art thou not nearer ? look back to thine earth! 

Cain. Where is it ? I see nothing' save a mass 
Of most innumerable lights. 
17 



258 CAIN. [act II. 

Lucifer. Look there ! 

Cain. I ciinnot sec it. 

Ljicifcr. Yet it sparkles still. 

Cain. That! — yonder! 

Lucifer. Yea. 

Cain. And wih tliou tell me so ? 

\Vhy, I have seen the fire-flies and lire-worms 
Bpri'ukle the dusky proves and the j^reen l)anks 
In the dim twiH;;ht, brij^hter than yon world 
Whieh liears them. 

Lucifer, 'i'liuii hast seen both worms and worlds, 
Each hri^^lit ;uiil sparkling;- — wliat dost think of them ? 

Cniu. Tliat they are beautiful in llieir own sjihere, 
Ami dial tlie ni;:rit, whieli makes both beauliful, 
Tlie little shinin;^- iire-lly in its flif;bt, 
And the inunortal star in its great course, 
Must both be guided. 

Liirifcr. But by whom or what ? 

Cain. Show mc. 

Lucifer. Dar'st thou behold ? 

Caiii. How knew 1 what 

I dare behold ? As yet, thou hast shown nought 
1 dare not g'a/.c on further. 

Lucifer. On, then, with ine. 

Wouliist thou behold things mortal or immortal ? 

Cain. W'hy, what arc things ? 

Lucifer. ' liolh partly : but what doth 

Sit next thy heart ? 

('ain. The things I sec. 

Lucifer. But what 

Sate nearest it ? 

Cain. The things T have not seen, 

Nor ever shall — the mysteries of death. 

Lucifer. What, if 1 show to thee things whieh have died, 
As I liavc shown thee mucdi whieh cannot die ? 

Cain. Do so. 

Lucifer. Away, then ! on our iiughty wings. 

Cain. Oh ! how we cleaAe Ibc blue ! The stars fade from us ! 
The earth ! -where is my earth ? Let me look on it, 
For I was made of it. 

Lucifer. 'Tis now beyond thee. 

Less, in the universe, than thou in it; 
Yet deem not that thou canst escape it : thou 
Shalt soon return to earth, and all its dust: 
'Tis part of thy eternity, and mine. 

Cain. \\'herc dost thou lead me ? 

Lucifer. To what was before thee .' 

The ]ihantasm of the world; of which thy world 
Is but the wreck. 

Cain. y\\\;\i\ is it not then new ? 

Lucifer. No more tlian life is; and that was ere thou 
Or /were, or the things which seem to us 
GnMter thnn either: many things will have 
No end; and some, wbicli wouUl j^-etend to have 
Had no beginning, Iimac had o\w as mean 
As thou; and miglitier things have been extinct 



SCENE 1.] CAIN, 259 

To make way for much meaner than wc can 
Surmise ; for moments only and the space 
Have l)eeii and must be all tinchangcable, 
Hut chanj^os make not death, except to (.-lay : 
l}ul lliou art clay, — and canst but comprehend 
That which was clay, and such thou slialt behold. 

('(till. ( 'biy, sjiirit ! what thou wilt, I can survey. 

Lucifer. ,Vway, then ! 

Cain, But the lif^lits fade from me fast. 

And some till now {:i-cw hu-ii-er as we approach'd. 
And wore the look of worlds. 

Lucifer. And such they are. 

Cain. And Edens in them ? 

Lucifer. It may l)e. 

Cain. ' And men ? 

Lucifer. Yea, or tilings higher. 

Cain. Ay ? and serpents too ? 

Lucifer, ^youldst tliou have men without them ? must no 
"reptiles 
Breathe save the erect ones ? 

(hiin. IIow the lights rcceile ; 

Where fly we ? 

Lucifer. To the world of phantoms, which 

Are beings past, and sliadows still to come. 

Cain. Hut it grows dark and dark — the stars are gone! 

Lucifer. And yet thou seest. 

Cain.. 'Tis a fearful light ! 

No sun, no moon, no lights innumerable. 
The very blue of tlie empurpled night 
Fades to a dreary twilight, yet 1 see 
Huge dusky nuisses : but unlike the worlds 
We were ;ipproaching, whicli, begirt with light, 
Seeni'd full of life even when tbiMr atniospliere 
Of liglit gave way, and sbow'd them taking shapes 
'Une([ual, oi deep valleys and vast moiiiilains; 
And some emitting sparks, and sf)me disphyiug 
Kuornious li(iuid ]ilains, and some begiit 
"With luminous belts, and lloatiug moons, which took, 
Like them, the features of fair earth: — instead, 
All here seems dark and dreailful. 

Lw'ifer. But distinct. 

Thou seekest to behold death, and dead things ? 

Cain. 1 seek it not: but as I know there are 
Such, and (hat my sire's sin makes him and me, 
And all that we inbci-it, lialile 
'I'd siu'b, 1 would bciiolii at once, what I 
^lusi one day see perforce. 

Lucifer. Behold ! 

Cain. 'Tis dtiikness. 

Lucifer. And so it shall be ever; but we will 
Unfold its gates ! 

('ain. Enormous vapors roll 

Apart — what's this } 

Lucifer. Enter! 

Cain. Can I return ? 



2G0 CALV. [act II. 

Ltiriftr. llotiini ! lu" siiro : how else shoukl dciith be peopled ? 
Its in'cseiit ivaliii is tliiu to wluit it will be, 
Tlirou^ii tlu'o iiiut tliiiie. 

('ain. The cloiuls still open witle 

And wider, and ni(d<c widening' eireles roiinil us. 

Lucifer. Advance ! 

Cain. And thou ! 

Lucifer. Fear not — willioiit nie thou 

Couldst not have g'one beyond thy world. On ! on! 

[Y'Aey disappear throw/ h the cloiuls 

8CKNK TI. 

llath's. 
Enter Lucikkk and Caw. 

Cain. How silent and how vast are these dim worlils ! 
For tlu'V seem more liiaii one, and yet nu>re jjeopletl 
1'han (he hiiL;c lirilli:nil huuiuous orbs whieh swuug 
iSo tliiekly in \\\v upiier air, ihat I 
lla<l diHMu'd llu-m ralher the brijiht populace 
Of some all unimaginable heaven, — 
Than Ihinn's to in' inliahited tlieniselvcs. 
Hill thill on draw in;^' near them 1 beheld 
'I'hcir sweUinu' into iialpalih' immensity 
Of matter, wliieh si'em'd made for life to dwell on, 
IJatlier than lite ilsrlf. Hut here, all is 
!So shadowy ajid so full of Iwiiifihl, that 
It speaks of a ihiy \)ast. 

Lucifer. It is the realm 

Of de.'ith. — Wouldst have it present? 

Coin. Till I know 

That which it really is, I cannot answer. 
IJut if it be as 1 have heard my father 
l)eal out in his loiiLf liomilies, Uis a thiufT — 
O (iod! 1 dare not tiiink on't ! C'lu-sed bo 
lie who invented lile Ihat h'ads to deatli! 
Or the dull mass of life, thai, beinji' life, 
("ould not retain, but neetls must forfeit it — 
ICven for the innocent! 

J^ueifcr. Dost thou curse thy father 1 

Cain, t'nrsed he not me in ^iviujr me my birth ? 
CiuNcd he not me before my birth, in ilarinj^ 
To iiluck the fruit ibrbiildeii ? 

Ijucifer. ThoTi say'stwell: 

Tiie curse is nnilual 'twixt Ihv sire and Ihec — 
]{ut for lliy sons and brother ? 

Cain. Ia'I them sliare it 

With nu", their sire and brotlur ? W'liat else is 
lieiiuealb'd to nu' ? I lea\c Ihem my inheritance. 
Oh, ye iultM-minabie f^loomv I'calms 
Of swimming' sliadows and enormous shapes, 
tSou\e i'ully shown, some indistinct, and all 
JSIi^hty and melanelioly wiuit are ye ? 
Live ye, or have ye lived ? 

LuciJ'cr. Somewhat of both. 



SCENE II.] CATN'. 201 

(■ain. Tlicn what in dculii ? 

Lurifcr. VVliat, ? llutli tiol Ilr wIki iiiiidc yo 

8ui(l 'tis iiiiotlK^r life ? 

Cain. Till now He; li;i,lii 

Said notiiinf^, savo tliat ail sliall die. 

Lnvifvr. rcrliaps 

lie oik: (lav will imlold 1li:i.(, riirllicr scciit. 

(Uiin. ifa.ppy tlu; day ! 

Lnvifvr. Vos; liaj)i)y ! wiicii iiiifoldcd 

Tlirou;;li anionics iiiiMpc'ukahU;, and (•ro;,'';4'd 
Willi a;;()nicM eternal, to iininnieralile 
'h'cf, niilioi'n myriads of iiiieonseioiiH atonin, 
All lo l)e aiiiinalcd lor lliin only ! 

I'liiii. What, are these iiii;;lity jiliiinfoins wliif'h I SCO 
I'loalin^' around me ? 'I'liey wear not the I'orui 
()t the intelli^cnecrs 1 have .si;en 
Jioiind our re;:Tell,ed and iinciiitcr'd Eden, 
Nor wear the form of man as I have view'd it 
]n Adam's, anil in Ahel's, and in mine, 
Nor in my sister-hride's, nor in my children's: 
And yet they have an aspect, whi<*-li, liioii;^li not 
Of men nor an;;-els, looks like Homelhin;;-, which 
If not. the last, rose hi^hcM- than the (irsi, 
JlMii;;hly, and hi(;h, and heantil'id, and lull 
or seeming' sli'eu;^lh, hitt, of ine\plie:d)le 
Shape; lor 1 iievc^- saw sneh. They lieai' not 
TIk! w'wv^ of sei'aph, nor the lace oilman, 
Noi- form of mi^^hliest hrulc, uoi' an^^lil that in 
Now hrealhin;;-; mi;4hly yet and heaidilul 
As the most huanliful ami mighty which 
Live, and yet so iiidike them, that f scarce 
Can call them living'. 

LiiviJ'vr. Yet they lived. 

Cain. Where ? 

Liicfr. Where 

Thon livest. 

Cain.. When ? 

Luvifvr. On what Ihon callest eiiiMh 

They did inhahit. 

Cain. Ad:i,m is the lirst. 

Lnvifvr. Oi" thine, I ^i-uit lliee hut loo me;i.u (o he 
Till! last of these. 

Cain. And what art; they ? 

Luvifer. 'I'hat which 

Thou shalt he. 

('uin. But what wurc they ? 

Luvifvr. Living-, hij^di, 

Intelligent, good, great, and glorious things, 
As much superior unto all thy sire, 
Adam, could e'er have heen in I"jd(Mi, as 
1'he sixly-thousandth gcnieration shall he, 
In its dull damp degeneracy, to 
'J"lie(! and thy son; — and how weak they are, judge 
Uy Ihy own llcsh. 

Caitu Ah nxfi I and did they jierish ? 



>Xt-2 CAiy. [ait u 

l.iicit'i r. Yi"-;, (Voiii llu'ii' ciirtli, ;is (hull \\ilt I'luli" t'roiii tliiiK\ 
Cain. Hut was iiliiir tlu'irs ? 
J.iifif'cr. ll was. 

(\liil. Hut IUl( MS lUlW. 

It is too litdo niul loo lowly to 
[Su>tain siicli i-roiitiiivs. 

jAiviftr. Tnio, it was luoiv jjlorious. 

(\ii'>K Ami wln-n foiv iliil it fall ? 

Lucifer. Ask Him who lolls. 

Ciiin. Hut how ? 

Lucifer. Uv a iiiost ci'iishiuL;- ami inoxonihlo 

TX'sinii'lioii ami ilisoi-iU'r ot' the oU-iiuiits, 
\\ liirh >liuck a wmlil to chaos, as a chaos 
SiihsJiliiiL;' has siruciv out a world; such tilings, 
Though rare iu tiuu', arc lVci|iicul iu ctcriiily, — 
I'ass ou, auil j^ay.o u|)ou the past. 

( '<iiit. "I'is aw I'ul ! 

Lucifer. Auiltt'uc. Hchold these iihaiitouis ! they were ouco 
Matei-ial as thou art. 

("diu. Aud uiiist I ho 

Like them r __ 

I.urifer. 1 ,cl lliui who luado thoo iinSWov that. 
1 show thee w hat thy |)redecessors arc, 
Aud what they u-ere thou IVolost, iu ilogrcc 
lul'erior as ihy jielty I'ccliuus aud 
'i hy iH'llier )>oriiou of the imnuuMal part 
()f"lii;;li iuli'Ui:;euce and earthly ^^^•eu^'th. 
^\'llat ye iu oomuiou ha\o with what tiu-y had 
Is life, aud w liat ye xJiiill have — death : the rest 
<.)f your |)ooi' attrihutes is such as suits 
Heiitiles eui;eudei''d out of the sulisidiuj; 
t^liuu' of a uiiulity uuiverse, erush'd into 
A searccly-yet shaped planet, in'oplcd with 
Things wliose eujoymeut was lo he i;i hliuduoss — 
A I'aradisc of luiiorauce, from which 
Kuowlcdue was harr'd as jioisou. IJut hehoKl 
AN'liat these superior heiuus are or wei'e ; 
0\; if it irk thee, turn thee hack and till 
The earth, thy task - I '11 waft thee llure iu safety. 

(\iiu. No: I'll stay liere. 

Lucifer. How louy ? 

(\iiu. Forever! Since 

1 umst one day return here from the earth, 
1 wither would renuiiu; 1 am sick of all 
'J'hat dust has shown me — let uu> dwell iu shadows. 

Lucifer. It cauuot he: thou now heholdesl as 
A visivu* that wliich is reality. 
To make ihyscH'til for this dwelliui;', thou 
Must (lass thron;;h wh;il the tilings tliou soest have pass'd — 
Tl>e >;ates of death. 

(\iiu. l>y what yate have wo outorM 

ICvi'u now ? 

Lucifer. \\\ mine! Unt, plii;'hted to returu, 
My spirit hnoys liieo up to breathe in ivjrious 
Where all is Invathlcss save thyself. Gazo ou; 



BCKNi: 11.] CAIX. 268 

Hilt <!(> not lliiiik to <hv<'ll li(<i'(^ till Ihliic hour 
Is coiur. 

(■ail). And llii'sc, loo; ciili llicy ne'er ic|iiis3 
To I'lirlli iij,''iiiii ? 

l.iirifrr. Tlirlr ciii'lh is i^oiic lor i\('i- — 

So cliaiijii'il liy ils (•oiLViilsioii, llicy wmilil not 
Wo coiiscioiiM to n. siiij^li' present spot 
Of its new scnreely liMiilenM snrfiiee 't\v:is — 
Oil, wliiit. 11 lieiinlit'iil wipilil it wiiK ! 

('dill. And is. 

II is not with the e:ii'tli, tlioii^'h I ninsi till it, 
1 feel Ml, \v:ir, liiil that I iiimv not profit. 
iiy wliiil it, Ileitis of lieantilVl iintoiliM;^', 
>Jor ;;'nilily my tlioiisnnd swelliii;^' thoiifilils 
With knowledge, nor iilliiy my llioiisiiud feiir.s 
Of death and life. 

lAicifi'r. Wliiit. Iliy world is, thou soest, 

15iil eaiist not eonipreliend the .sliiulow of 
That whieh it was. 

('dill. And lliose eiiornioMS erealnres, 

Phantoms inferioi- in intejli;;eiiee 
(At least so secmin;^) to tin; thiiij^s we have pasn'il, 
IJcseiiihlin;;' somewhat the wild hahitants 
Of the deep woods of earth, the hll^cst, whieh 
Jtoar ni;4hlly in Ihi' loresl, lint tenfold 
In magnitude and terror; laller than 
The ehernh-jiiiarded walls of iOdeii, with 
Kyos llashin;.'' like the llery swords whieh fiiice Iheni, 
Aiu\ tusks projeetiii;^- like the trees siripp'd of 
Their hark and hranehes — what, were lliey ? 

I.iirifcr. 'I'liut wliiiU 

The iMaiiinioth is in thy world; lint these' lio 
IW myriads miderii iitli its siirfiiec^ 

Cain. lint. 

Hone on it ? 

Lurifrr. No: for thy frail rae<' to war 
With ilieni woidd render the enrse on it useless — 
'Twollld he de'^tidy'd so eaily. 

('dill. Itnt w hy irai- f 

lAirif'cr. ^'<iil hiiM! forf^olten tln^ deiiiiiK'iatioii 
AN'hieh drove your race iVoni ImIcii — war with all tliiii;^'!4, 
And death to all thin;;s, and disease lo most thin;^s, 
And pan^s, and liilterness; these were llu' I'rnils 
Of the forhi.lilen tree. 

('dill. \\\\i animals 

Did Iliey, too, eat of it, that they must .lie ? 

Lucifer. Voiir Maker told ye, tlit'i/ were made for yoil, 
As yon for Ilini. — You would not liavi^ their doom 
SuiH'rior to ymir own ? Had Adam not 
Fallen, all had stood. 

(Uiiii. .Mas! the lioiK'Icss wi'eleli(!s ! 

'J'hey too must share my sink's fate, like his sons; 
1/ike them, t(io, wilhont havin;;' shart'd the aiipli^; 
Like them, too, without the .so dear-lion^iht kiiowlfdjjo! 
It was :i l^iii^ tree — for wc knuw nothing. 



2f,.( CAiy. [act II. 

At li-iist \\ prcimi.trd Jnxtirfrdoc nl Ihc price 

Of ill Mill lull Idiou-lnliir •^(ill : l>iil wliMt /aiotr.i ninii ? 

I. II, if) r. II iiiMv 111' iloMlli lends to llu' hiiilnst IvliowU'ilfrp ; 
Anil lu-iiii;- ol" !iiriliiii;;s tlu> siil(> lliiii;;- cortiiin, 
Al lonst li'iiils to the siirrsf scioiico : tlicivlVire 
Tlu' tree wsis true, tlmiij^li dcinllv. 

Ciiiii. Tlu'so iliin rciilins! 

1 soo llii'in. lull I Kiunv llioiii not. 

t.iirit'ir. Hocimso 

Tliv lioiir is vi'l iiriir, inul innttiM- ciinnol 
('oi'iii>ivliiMur spirit wholly d)ul 'tis somotliin;,' 
To know till ri~ .'iiv siuli rciiliiis. 

Ciiiii. Ml' Kiuw iilrciiily 

That, (lii'vo WMs (loiitli. 

Lucifer. 1hi\ not wlint wms ln-youd it. 

Cdiii. Nor know 1 now. 

I.iicif.r. 'I'lioii kiiowi'sl lliMt tiu'i'i' is 

A siMir, mill ui:Miy sliilt-s hi-yniul lliiiir own 
Anil llii-* ilioii kiirwi'st not this uiurn. 

<\iiii. BlltiiU 

ISoonis iliin ;inil shiiilowy. — 

J.ih-ifrr. Bo contoiit ; it will 

Sooni cliMrer to thino inunorliililv. 

(\iin. Anil yon innnoiisiiniMi' liqiiiil spjioo 
or ixlorioiis ir/iiii- whioh tloiils on lu'voml lis, 
■\\hii'li looks liki< Wilier, niul which l" shouKl doom 
Tlu" liMT whii'h Hows out of I'linuliso 
VmsI my own dwcilini;', hill thiit it is hsmklcss 
>\nil luiiinilK'ss, !ind of iiu othoivnl hue — 
AVhiil is it ? 

I.ucil'cr. Tlioi'O is still some such on o;nlh, 
AllhoU!;h inferior, iind thy children rli;ill 
J)well nciir il 'tis the ^ilnintiisin of sm oeenn. 

(^oiii. "I'is like iinother world; ii liiiiiid sun — 
And those inordinato ere.'itiiivs sporting' o'er 
lis sliiiiiiiL; siirfjiee ? 

I. II if'cr. Are its iiihahitiints; 

The pnst le\ iaihans. 

('((//». And von iiiiiiien-^e 

iSoriHMil. which rears its drippini:' iinine and viisty 
Head ten limes higher than the liaiij^hliesl cedar 
Forth tVoiii the ahyss, lookin.u- as he could coil 
llinf^clf aroMiid the orhs we lately look'd on — 
Is he not of the kind which hiisk'il lu-neath 
'.riic tree in Kdeu ? 

I.ti,'(fer. V.\{\ thy mother, best, 

t'iin toll what shape of seriu'nt tempted her. 

Cain. This seems loo terrihle. No donlit the other 
Had more of hcjuily. 

Lucifer. ' Ihisl thou ne'er heheld him ? 

Ciiiii. Many of the same kind (M Ica-I so call'd), 
Ihit never thai pr(>ci>ely which persuaded 
The fatal fruil, nor e\ en of the same aspect. 

Lucifer, \iuir falhersaw him not r 

(\tii'i. No; 'twas my niethcr 

Who tempted him she templed l>y the serpent. 



HrKNl', II. I 



CAIN. 



nn 



l.iififi'f. (Jiioil iiiriii' (vliiiii'ir ili^ wlfi', fii' \\\y niinn' wivfis, 
'I'lriiiil, IIm'I' (ir llii'iii III iiii(y|il Unit 'm new or Hlni.iij,rii, 

ltl< Nlll'l' lllllll ni'I'Hl firni wllil lllllll ll'MI|ill'll llllHI. 

Cilili. 'I'liy |tri'r(i|il ciiliiiiH lipii lull! Ilii 11 M iii> iiMii'd 
1''iii' ni'I'iihiiIn 1(1 l,ttiii|il, wiiniiiii III. 

l.iiri/'n. Itiillliipi 

Al'i' Hii'iiii' tliliij/H hIIII wlili'li W'imiiii mii\ liiMpI iimn l<i, 
Ami lllllll li'iii|il, wiiiiiiiii ; — li'l. Iliy mini limli In il. I 
AI V niilliNrl it II Kiml iiiic : lur 'lix rvcii 
(ifvi'll rlilcdv III IIIV "Wll l'ii|ii'linii : 'li't lllll', 
"J'will IKil. Il/' rnll.iwM, «.i IJM'IV •« lilllr l.inl. 

('din, I iiiiiliirnliiiiil n'll lliii. 

I.iwif'flr. 'I'lii; liii|i|ii> r lllllll I 

Thy wiirlil iiiiij lllllll mil nlill Ihd ymiiit.' ' 'llniii lliiiiknnt 
'rii'vNi'ir iiiiihI, wii^titil mill iiiiliii|i|iy : i;i il. 
Niil ni. r 

<:iiin. I''iii' riiiM'-, I Know ii'il ; lllll, I'lir |iiiiii, 

1 llllVK I'i'll lllll' II. 

l,Ui<if'i'l\ rii'iil. Iinrii III' till' (ir;il, liiitltl 

'i'liy pri'ii'iil nIiiIi' III' hill mill llmii ml. evil, 
OI'Miin'ow — iiikI lllllll niilViiri'Hj, nri! Iiolli l')iliiii 

111 nil iln ililioriilli'r i'iiiii|iiiri'i| In wlilll 
'I'liiiii nlinrllv liiliy'Ml III-; luiij lliiil iiliiiii Itgllill 
III ll« riilulllilcil wirli'liriliiOMN, II, riii'liili«(l 
'I'll wliiil lliy Miiiii' miiiim' miiiih, iii'i'iiiiiiilitliiig 
III (^i^tii'i'iilinim IlKii III iIiihI. (which llii'y 
III I'lirl, lllll mill III), mIiiiII miihii'i' iiiul ilo. 
Now li'l. UN liiMiU III iiiii'lli I 

diiin. Anil whnrcroi'ii iliilni iliun 

Lniil mil liiii'ii only In iiil'oiin nut lliin r 

//uri/'i'f. Will mil lliy i|iiii»l, ['or kiiowlnilun ( 

Ciiln. Vim; III liiiiij^ 

Tint I'oinl III liii|i)iiiirNM. 

J.iwif'cr, ir h lllll I II I NO, 

'I'llOII llUMl, h.. 

diiiii. 'riiiiii my ritlliiii''M (<oil iliil Willi 

Wlii'ii liii |ii'nliiliili'il IliK I'lilii! Iri'c. 

Limifrr. Mill hml ilniii' lii'diT in mil |ilii,iiliii(/ II,. 
Mill. i((ni>t'iiiii'it oi' I'vil ilolli mil, nitvn 
l''i'oiii evil ; il. iiiiinl nIIII roll mi llir miiiic, 
A |iii,rl, oral! l,liiiiK<*< 

Cain. Nnl '.Cull iIiIii^^n, No; 

I'll mil. hriii'Vi' II. Cor I lliilmt lorj-nioil. 

I.iwil'rr, Ami who iiml wliiil ilnlli iiol. i' WIuivumvIh i;\\\ 
Vur il» own liilliT HiiUii I S'liiii' — nolhiiiK ! 'Ii'< 
'I'lii' iriivrii III' III! IH'i', mill liCi'Ji'NunitiN. 

('lllll, W'ilhiii lliORit ^loi'ioiiM oi'lm wliii'h wi: liisliolil, 
l>inliiiil, mill ilii/./liii(.', mill innnnirriililii, 
I'il'i: wi' riillli' ilnwii illln lllin |iliiiiiliiiii I'l'iilin, 
III iiiniiol I'oiiii! ; ilii'y iirr too lirmiliriil 

//Ui'if'iir. 'I'lioll hllMl, Niitill Iliriii riniii iil'iir 

daiu, Ami wlml. oC Uiiil, ( 

1>iMliiiii'i! ('Mil lllll lilnilnlnli n\<>iy Hny, 
VVIirii nciii'i'i', iiiiihl, lilt iiioi'it imtll'iilili'. 

J.iirif'i'f. A|i|iriiiii'li llii' lliiiij/,H ol' itiii'l.it iiioitl, hiiiiiiUCiil, 
And JiiiIki' l.liitir iMuuly innu'. 



200 CAIX. [act n 

CiiitK 1 hnvc iloiic tliis — 

The lovoliost thin<j T know is lovi'liest iiouivst. 

l.iirifcr. 'I'licn tliiTO must Ik- ilcliision. — Wiuit is that, 
Which liciii^' lu'iircst to tliiiie oyos is still 
More l)oaulil'iil IIkim htiiiiti'iMis thilifis rrniotc ? 

(\nn. My sister AiImIi.- AH liu- slurs of he:iM'n, 
Tho iK'i')i liliif noon of nij;lit, lit i)y an orli 
'Which looks a s|iiril, or a spii-it's woi'ld — 
The hues of Iwilij^ht — tho sun's j;'oi'j;eous I'ouiing: — 
His setlinj;' inilescriiiahlo, which tills 
Mv eyes wilh iileasant tears as I hehohl 
llini sink, anil feel uiy heiirt tloal softly with him 
Aloni4' that western iiarailise of clouds — 
The forest shade — the ^veen hou^h- the hird's voice — 
The vesper hird's, which seems to siuj^: of love, 
And minj^les with the sonj;' of chcruhim, 
As the day closes over Ktlen's walls; — 
All these are nolhiui;', to my eyes and heart, 
Like Adah's face ; I turn from earth ami lu'aven 
To f^aze on it. 

Liicifvr. 'Tis fair as frail mortsiiitj', 

In the lirst dawn and hloom of younj,' creation, 
And earliest emhraees of earth's jmrents, 
Can n\ake its otl'sprinj;'; still it is delusion. 

Cain. You think so, beiny not her brother. 

Lucifer. Mortal ! 

My liri)therhood 's with those who have no children. 

Cuiii. Then thou canst have no fellowship with us. 

Luvifcf. It may be that thine own shall be for me. 
But if thou dost (lossess a beautiful 
Beinj^- beyond all beauty in thine eyes, 
^^'hy art thou wretchetl? 

(\iiii. Why do I exist ? 

Why art tlioH wretched ? why are all thinjis so? 
Kveu lie who matle us nuist be, as the maker 
Of IhinjiS unhappy I To produce destructiou 
Can surely never be the task of joy ; 
And yet liiy sire says He's omnipotent: 
Then why is evil lie beini^' ^ood ? I ask'd 
This ([uestiiui of my father; anil he said, 
Because this evil only was the path 
To fjooil. .Stranf;e j;ood, that must arise from out 
Its deadly opposite. I lately saw 
A lauili stun;^- by a reptile : the poor sueklin<j 
Lay foaniini;' on the earth, beneath the \ain 
And i>ili'ous blealiui;- of its restU'ss dam; 
^ly I'alher pluck'd some herbs, and laid them to 
The wound; and liy dcjirees the helpless wretch 
Kesuuu'd its careless life, anil rose to drain 
The mother's milk, who o'er it treumlous 
Stood lickinj,' its reviviuj>' limbs with joy. 
Behold, my sou! saitl Adam, how from evil 
Jsprin^is fiooil! 

Litriffr. What didst thou answer ? 

Vaiii. Nothinj,'; for 

He is my father : but 1 thought, that 'twere 



SCENE 11.] CAIN. 267 

A 1)p(:tor poftion for the aniiiiiil 
NcvtT (() liavc Ix'cii sti(n<i at all, than to 
I'lirchiisc rc:iie\Viil of ils'lilllu lifo 
With ii<>-()iii(!,s iiiuittcriible, though 
DispellM by aiuidotus. 

Lucifer. l?iit iis thou said'st 

Of all Ixlovod tilings thou lovost \w.r 
"W'lio shiircil.thy iiiolher's milk, aiul ffivetU hers 
Unto tliy children 

('Uin. Most assuredly : 

What should I be without her ? 

Lucifer. What am I ? 

Cain. Dost thou love nothinjj; ? 

Lucifer. What docs thy God love ? 

Culii, All tliin<js, 7Tiy father says; but I confess 
I see it not in their allotment hcrt;. 

Lucifer, And, tlierofore, thou canst not sec if /love 
Or no, except some vast and jroneral i)ur|)ost', 
To which particular tilings must melt like snows. 

Cain. Snows ! what are they ? 

IjUcifer. I5e happiei- in not kimwiiig 

What thy remoter offspring' nnist cneouutcr; 
But bask lienealli the clinic which knows no wiiilcr! 

Cain. Lut dost thou not love something- like thyself? 

Lucifer. And dost thou love thyself'} 

Cain. Yes, but love moro 

What makes my feelings more endurable, 
And is more than myself, because 1 lovt' it. 

Lucifer. 'J'iioii loM'sl it, because 'tis beautiful, 
As was the ap[»le in thy mother's eye; 
And when it ceases to l)e so, thy love 
Will cease, lila; any other appetite. 

Cain, Cease lo be beautiful! how can that be ? 

Lucifer. With time. 

Cain. ]'>iit time lias (lass'd, and hitherto 

Even Adam and my mother bolh are fair: 
Not fair like Adah and the seraphim — 
But very fair. 

Lucifer. All tliat mu.st pass away 

In them and her. 

(kiin, I'm Sony for it, but 

Cannot conceive my love for her the less. 
And when her beauty disappears, melhinks 
lie who creates all beauty will lose more 
Than me in seeing jicrish such a work. 

Lucifer. 1 pity thee who lovest wiiat must perish. 

Cain. And i ihee, who lov'st nothing. 

Lucifer. And thy brother—' 

Sits he not near thy heart ? 

Cain. Why should he not ? 

Lucifer, Thy father loves him well — so does thy God. 

Cain. And so do 1. 

Lucifer. 'Tis well and meekly done. 

Cain. Meekly ! 

Lucifer. lie is the second born of flesh, 

And is his HKJther's favorite. 



2g8 CAIN. [act II. 

Cai7i. Let him keep 

Ilcr favor, since the serpent was the first 
To win it. 

Lucifer. And liis father's ? 

Cam. "What is that 

To mc ? sliould I not love tliat wliich all love ? 

Lnclfcr. And tlie .lolioviih — the indulifcnt Lord, 
And hiiuntcoiis planter of harr'd Paradise — 
IIo, too, looks sniilinylv on Ahel. 

Cain. ' I 

Ke'cr saw Ilim, and I know not if lie smiles. 

Lucifer. But you have seen His angels ? 

Cain. ' Rarely. 

Lucifer. But 

Sufficiently to see they love your brother : 
His sacrilices arc acceptahlc. 

Cain. !^o he they ! wherefore speak to mc of this ? 

Lucifer, Because thou hast thought of this ere now. 

Cain. And if 

I have thoufrht, why recall .1 thought that {he j^ause , as 

agitated) — Si)irit ! 
Here we arc in thrj world : speak not oTminc. 
Tiiou hast shown nie wonders; thou hast shown me those 
Mi;^htv prc-Adaiuites who walk'd the earth 
Of which ours is the wreck; thoit hast pointed out 
Myriads of starry worlds, of wdnch our own 
Isthe dim and remote companion, in 
Infinity of life : thou hast shown me shadows 
Of that existence with the dreaded name 

■Which my sire brought us — Death ; thou hast shown me much — 
But not all : show me wdierc Jehovah dwells, 
In His especial Paradise — or thine : 
"Where is it ? 

Lucifer. Here, and o'er all space. 

Cain. Rut ye 

Have some allotted dwelling — as all things ; 
Clay has its earth, and other worlds their tenants; 
Air temporary breathing creatures their 
Peculiar clement; and things which have 
Long ceased to breathe our breath, have theirs, thou say'st ; 
And the Jehovah and thyself have thine — 
Ye do not dwell together ? 

Lucifer. " No, we reign 

Together ; but our dwellings are asunder. 

Cain. Would there were only one of ye ! Perchance 
An unity of purpose might make union 
In elements which seem now jarr'd in storms. 
How came ye, being spirits, wise antl infinite, 
To separate ? Are ye not as brethren in 
Your essence, and j'our nature, and your glory ? 

Lucifer. Art thoii not Abel's brother ? 

Caiiu Wc are brethren, 

And so we shall remain ; but were it not so, 
Is spirit like to flesh ? can it fall out ? 
Infinity with Immortality ? 



•KNE 11.] CAiy. 2(39 

.Tiirrinu' niul tuniinix spiirc to misery — 
For wluit ? 

Lucifrr. To roiun. 

Caiii. Dill yo not tell iiic that 

Yc are liolli I'tcrnal ? 

Liirifcr. Yoa! 

<'<iui. _ And wliat I have seen, 

Yon blue innncnsity, is boiuuUess ? 

Lucifer. Ay. 

C'ain. Anil cannot yo bolli r<'i(/n then r — is tlu'rc not 
Enough ? — why slioukl yo cliller .> 

Lvcifcr. ' We ho(h rei^n. 

Cain. 15nt one of you makes evil. 

Lucifer. ' Whieh ? 

Caili. Thon! for 

If thou canst do man pood, why dost thou not ? 

^Lucifer. And why not He who made .' / made ye not: 
Y'e are llis creatures, and not mine. 

Cain. Then leave us 

TTis creatures, as thou say'st wo are, or show me 
Thy dweliin;;', or His dwelling, 

Lucifer. I could show thee 

Both ; hut tlie tinu^ will come thou slialt see one 
Of them for evermore. 

Cain. And why not now ? 

Lucifer. Thy human mind hath scarcely g-rasp to gather 
The little I have sliown thee into calm 
And clear thought; an<l thou woiddst go on aspiring 
To the great double Mysteries! the two J'rinciples! 
And gaze upon them on their secret thrones! 
Dust ! limit lliy aml)ition ; for to sec 
Either of these, would i)e for thee to perish I 

Cnin. And let nic perish, so I sec tlicm ! 

Lucifer. There 

The son of her who snateh'd the apple spake ! 
But thou wouhlst only perish, and not see them; 
That sight is for the other state. 

Cain. Of death? 

Lucifer. That is the prelude. 

Cain. Then T dread it less, 

Now that T know it leads lo something deiinite. 

Lm-ifer. Ami now I will convey thee to thj- world. 
Where thou shalt nudtiiily the race of Adam", 
Eat, drink, toil, tremble, langh, weep, sleep, ami die. 

Cnin. And to what end have I beheld these things 
"Which thou hast shown me ? 

Lucifer. Didst thou not require 

Knowledge ? And have I not, in what I sliow'd, 
Taught thee to know thyself? 

Cain. Alas! I seem 

Nothing. 

Lucifer. And this should be the human sum 
Of knowle<lge, to know mortal nature's nothingness : 
Beqneath that science to thy children, and 
"Twill spare them many tortures. 

Cain. Haughty sjjirit! 



270 r.iiy. [acthi. 

Thou siic:ik'st it promlly; hut thvsolf, tluniuh [irouil, 
Hast ii supi'rior. 

Lucifer. Xo ! hy hciivcii, which lie 

IIiihN, ;uul tlio iih\ss, :inil llio iuuucusitv 
<.)f worlds iiiul lilV", whiili 1 hol>l with liiiu— Xo! 
1 \\x\\e a victor — true; hut uo superior. 
llouuijio lie has iVoui all — hut uouc I'runi me : 
I hattle it auainst llim, as 1 hattletl 
111 hifihest heaven. Throuiih all eternity, 
And the uulalhouiahle ,i:uUs of Hades, 
Ami the iuleruiinal)le realms of space. 
Anil llie intiuily of endless ilyes, 
All, all, will 1 ilispute! And world hy world, 
And star hy star, and universe hy universe, 
Shall tremi>le in the halanee, till the great 
Conlliet shall cease, if ever it shall cease, 
Which it ne'er shall, till lie or I he (lueneh'd! 
And what can ((uciicli our immortality, 
Or mutual and irrcvocahle hate .' 
He as a conqueror will call the coiiquer'd 
Evil; hut what will lie the <iood lle_jrives ? 
A\'ere I the victor, Uis works would he deem VI 
The only evil ones. And you, ve new 
And .searce-horii mortals, what liave hccn His gifts 
To you already, in your little world ? 

Cain. I5ut lew ! and some of those hut hitter. 

Lucifer. Back 

"With ine, tlieii, to thine earth, and try the rest 
Of His celestial hoons to you and yours. 
Evil and good are things in their own essence, 
And not made good or e\ il hy I Ik- giver; 
l?iit if lie gives you good — so call llim ; if 
Evil sin-iugs from Jliin, do not name it /nine. 
Till ve know i)etter its true fount ; and judge 
Xotliy words, though ofsjiirits, but the fruits 
Of your existence, such as it must i)o. 
One (food gift has the fatal apple given — 
Your jr((.s'o« ;^let it not i>e ovcr-sway'd 
Bv tyrannous tlu\'ats to force you iiiio faith 
'{Jainst all external sense and inward feeling: 
Think and endure — ami form an inner world 
In your own hosoiii — where the outward fails; 
So shall you nearer he the spiritual 
Nature, and war triumphant with your own. [T/ici/ disappear. 



ACT HI. 

SCENE I. 

T/ie Earth near Eden, as in Act I. 
Enter Caix and AiiAU. 
Adah. Hush ! tread softly, Cain. 

Cain. I will ; hut whcrcforo ? 

Adah. Our little I'.noch sleeps upon you hed 
Of leaves, heueath the cypress. 



SCENE I.] CAIN. 271 

Cain. Cvprcss! 'tis 

A jiloDiiiy troc, which looks as if it lUDiirnM 

O'er what it shadows; whcrcibrc iliilsl tlioii clioosc it 

I'or our ciiihl's canopy ? 

Adali. liccaiisc lis I)r:uichcs 

Sliiit out the snii lil<c ui^i-lil, ami Ihcrcl'oi'c >c(Mii'i1 

l-'ittiu;,'' to shadow shiudjcr. 

(■uin. Ay, I lie l:isl — 

And longest; hut no matter — lead uic to hint. 

[Tlicij ijo up to the child 

IIow lovely he appears! his little cheeks, 

In their ])ure incarnation, vyinfi' with 

The rose leaves strewn beneath them. 

Adah. And his lips, too, 

IIow beautifidly parted! No; you shall not 

Kiss him, at least not now : he will awake soon — 

His hour of mid-ilay rest is nearly over; 

Uut it were pity to (listurb iiim till 

'Tis closeil. 

('(till. You have said well; I will contain 

My heart till then. He smiles, and sleeps! — .Sleep on 
And smile, thou little, youn;^' inheriloi' 
Of a world scare(t les-, yoiiii;:-: sleep on, and smile! 
Thine are the hours and days when both ai-e cheering 
And innocent! thtm hast not pluck'd the fruit — 
Thou know'st iiot tlioii art naked ! ISIiist the time 
Come thou .shall be amerced for sins unknown. 
Which wei'c not mine uov thint; ? Uut now sleep on! 
His cheeks are reddening'' into deeper snjiles. 
And shining lids are trend)ling o'er his long 
Lashes, dark ;is the (yjiress which w.aves o'er Ihcm ; 
Half open, from beneath them the clear blue 
Laughs out, although in slimiber. He must dream — 
Of what ? Oi I'aradise !— Ay ! ilreatn (jf it, 
My disinlicrited Ixiy ! "I'is but a dream ; 
I'or nev(,'i' more thyself, thy sons, nor fathers. 
Shall walk in tlinl forbidden j)lace of joy ! 

Af/rih. Dear ( 'aiii ! Xay, do not whisper o'er our soa 
Such melancholy yearnings o'er the past; 
Why wilt thou always mourn for I'aradise ? 
Can we not make another ? 

Ca/'n. Where ? 

Adah. Here, or 

Wliei'e'cr thou wilt: where'er thou art, I feel not 
The want of this so much regretted iCden. 
Have I not thee, our boy, our sire, antl brother, 
And Zillah — our sweet sister, and our Kvc, 
To whom we owe so much besides our birth .' 

Cain. Yes — dealli, too, is amongst tin; debts we owe her. 
Adah. Cain! that i)r(jud spirit, who withdrew thee heaco, 
Hath saddi^n'd thine still dec^per. I had hoped 
The j)romised wonders whic^li thou Iiast beheld, 
Visions, thou say'st, of past and prcseiit worlds, 
Would liave comjioscd thy mind into the calm 
Of a contented knowleilge; but I see 
Thy guide hath done thee evil ; still I thank him, 



272 CAIX. [act III. 

And can fori^ivc liini all, that he so soon 
Ilath given tlicc liack to us. 

Cain. So soon ? 

Adah. 'Tis scarcely 

Two hours since ye departed : two long hours 
To me, but only hours upon the sun. 

Cain. And yet I have approaeh'd that sun, and seen 
Worlds which he once shone on, and never more 
Shall light ; and worlds he never lit : uiethougbt 
Years had roll'd o'er my absence. 

Adah. TIardly hours. 

Cain. The mind then hath capacity of time, 
And measures it by that which it beholds, 
Pleasing or painful ; little or almighty. 
I had hehekl the immemorial works 
Of endless beings; skirr'd extinguish'd worlds; 
And, gazing on eternity, mcthought 
I had borrow'd more by a few drops of ages 
From its immensity; but now 1 feel 
M}' littleness again. Well said the spirit, 
That I WIS nothing ! — 

Adah. Wherefore said he so ? 

Jehovah said not that. 

Cain. No : lie contents Ilim 

With making us the nofJiinr/ which we are; 
And after llattering dust with glimpses of 
Eden and Immortality, resolves 
It back to dust again — for what ? 

Adah. Thou know'st — 

Even for our parents' error. 

Cain. What is that 

To us ? they sinn'd, then let them die ! 

Adah. Thou hast not spoken well, nor is that tl^ought 
Thy own, but of the spirit wlio was with thee. 
Would / could die for them, so thei/ might live ! 

Cain. Why, so say I — provided that one victim 
Might satiate the insatiable of life, 
And that our little rosy sleeper there 
Might never taste of death nor human sorrow, 
Nor hand it down to those who spring from him. 

Adah. How know we that some such atonement one day 
May not redeem our race .■' 

Cain. By sacrificing 

The harmless for the guilty ! what atonement 
Were there ? why, tee arc innocent: what have we 
Done, that we must be victims for a deed 
Before our l)irth, or need have victims to 
Atone for this mysterious, nameless sin — 
If it be such a sin to seek for knowledge ? 

Adah. Alas ! thou sinnest now, my Cain : thy words 
Sound impious in mine ears. 

Cain. Then leave me ! 

Adah. Never, 

Though thy God left thee. 

Cain. Say, what have we here ? 

Adah. Two altars, which our brother Abel made 



SCENE I.] CAIN. 273 

Durinfr thine absence, whereupon to offer 
A sacrifice to (iod on thy return. 

Cain. AwA how knew lie lh;il /woukl he so ready 
M'ith the l)m-nl-()11'eriui;s, -which lie daily hrings 
M'itli a uicck brow, wliosc base luiniility 
Shows more of fear than worship, as u bribe 
To the Creator ? 

Adah. Surely, 'tis well done. 

Cain. One altar may suffice; / have no offering. 

Adah. The fruits of the eartli, the early, beautiful 
Blossom and butl, and bloom of tiowers and fruits. 
These arc a <,'-oodly otl'crint;- to the Lord, 
Given with a i^cntle and a contrite spirit. 

Cain. I have toil'd, and till'd, and swcaten in the sun 
According to the curse : — must I do more ? 
For what should I be gentle } for a war 
With all the elements ere they will 3-ield 
The bread we eat ? For what must 1 be grateful .' 
For being thist, and grovelling in the dust, 
Till I return to dust ? If I am nothing — 
For nothing shall 1 be a hypocrite, 

And seem well-iilcascd with pain ? For what should I 
Be contrite .' for my father's sin, already 
Expiate with what we all have undergone. 
And to be more than expiated by 
The ages iirophcsicd, upon our seed. 
Little deems our ^oung blooming sleeper, there, 
The germs of an eternal misery 
To myriads is within him! better 'twere 
I snatch'd hini in his sleep, and dash'd him 'gainst 
Tlie rocks, than let him live to 

Adah. Oh, mvGod! 

Touch not the child—my ( hild ! thi/ child f O Cain ! 

Cain. Fear not I for all the stars", and all the power 
Which swap's them, I would not accost you infant 
With ruder greeting than a father's kiss. 

Adah. Then, why so awful iu thy speech ? 

Cain. I said, 

'Twere l)cttcr that he ceased to live, than give 
Life to so much of sorrow as he must 
Endure, ami, harder still, bequeath; but since 
That saying jars you, let us only say — 
'Twere better that he nevei' had been boi-n. 

Adah. Oh, do not say so ! Where were then the joys, 
The mother's joys of watching, nourishing, 
Ami loving him"? Soft! he awakes. Sweet Enoch ! 

[■SVie f/oes to the child 
O Cain I look on him ; see how full of life. 
Of strength, of bloom, of beauty, and of joy. 
How like to me — how like to thee, when gentle, 
For then we ai-e all alike ; is 't not so, Cain ? 
Mother, antl sire, and son, our features are 
lletlccted in each other; as they are 
In the clear waters, when thci/ are gentle, and 
When thou art qcntlu. Love us, tlien, my Cain ! 
And love thyself for our sakes, for wc love thee. 
18 



274 CAiy. [act hi. 

Ijook ! liow he luuu'lis ami stretches out his arms, 
Ar.d opens wide his hhie (\ves ujioii thine, 
To hail his lather; while his little I'orni 
I'lutters iis winu'd with joy. Talk not of puiu ! 
The childless eheruhs well" niijiht envy thee 
The pleasures of a paivnt! lUess him, (Jain! 
As yet he hath no words to thank thee, hnt 
llis lieart will, and thine own too. 

Cain. Bless thee, hoy ! 

If that a nxirtal hlessinjj' may avail thoc, 
Tt) save thee from the serpent's curse ! 

Ada/i. It shall. 

8nri'ly a- father's hlessiny may avert 
A reptile's subtlety. 

Cain. Of that I doubt ; 

But bless him ne'er the less. 

Aduh. Our brother comes. 

Cain. Thy brother Abel. 

Enter Anr.L. 

Abel. ^\■^•leome, Catn ! My brother, 

The peace of (Jod be on thee ! 

Cain. Abel, hail ! 

Abel. Our sister tells me thou hast been wandering, 
In hij:'h eonuminion with a spirit, far 
licyond our wonted ran^o. Was he of those 
We have seen and spt>ken with, like to our father? 

Cain. No. 

Abel. Whv then ecnnmune with him ? he may be 

A foe to the Most "High. 

Cain. And friend to man. 

Has the ^lost High boon so — if so you term Ilim ? 

Abel. Term Ilim ! your worils are strange to-day, my 
brother. 
Mv sister Adah, leave us for awhile — 
W'c mean to saeritico. 

Adah. Farewell, my Cain ; 

But (irst cmhraco thv son. JMay his soft spirit, 
And Abel's pious ministry, recall thee 
To peace and holiness ! " {Exit AiiAii, with her child. 

Abel. Wliere hast thou been.' 

Cain. I know not. 

Abel. Nor wlial thou hast seen ? 

Cain. The dead, 

The immortal, liie unlioiindcd, tlie omnipotent, 
Tiie ovcrpo\vi,'i'ing mysteries of space — 
Tlie inuuuu'rable worlds lliat were and are — 
A whirlwind of such overwhelming things, 
Suns, moons, and earths, upon their loud-voiced spheres 
Singing in thunder round me, as have made me 
Unlit for mortal converse: leave me, AIh'1. 

Abel. Thine eyes are Hashing with unnatural light, 
Thy cheek is llush'd with an unnatural iiuc. 
Thy words are fraught with an uiuiatural sound — 
What nniy this mean ? 

•Cain. It means 1 pray thee, leave me. 



sczNE I.] CAIX. 275 

Abel. Xot till wc have pray'il and sacrificed together. 

(Jain. Al)cl, I pray tlicc, sacrilice alone — 
Jehovah loves Ihec well. 

Abel. Both well, I hope. 

Cain. But thee the belter : I care not Ibr that; 
Thou art litter Ibr His worship than I am; 
licvere Him, th^ii — but let it be alone — 
At least, without inc. 

Abel. Brother, I should ill 

Deserve the name of our ^j^rcat father'a sou, 
II', as my elder, I revered thee not, 
And in the worsliip of our (Jod cull'd not 
On thee to join mo, and precede mc in 
Oiu- priesthood — 'tis thy place. 

Cain. But I have ne'er 

Asserted it. 

Abel. The more my {^rief ; I pray thee 

To do so nov/ : thy soul seems laboring in 
Some strong delusion ; it will calm thee. 

Cain. No ; 

Nothin"^ can calm mc more. Calm! say 1} Never 
Knew I what calm was in the soul, although 
I have seen tlic elements still'd. ]\Iy Abel, leave me! 
Or let me leave thee to thy pious purpose. 

Abel. Neither : wc must perform our task, together. 
Spurn mc not. 

Cain. If it must be so well, then, 

What shall I do ? 

Abel. Choose one of those two altars. 

Cain. Choose for me : they to mc are so much turf 
And stone. 

Abel. Choose thou ! 

Cain. I have chosen. 

Abel. 'Tis the highest. 

And suits thcc, as the elder. Now i)reparc 
Thine ollerings. 

Cain. Where arc thiac ? 

Abel. Bcholil them here — 

The firstlings of the flock, and fat thereof — 
A sliciihertrs humble offering. 

Cain. I have no flocks ; 

I am a tiller of the ground, and must 

Yield what ityieldcth to my toil— its fruits : [He gathers fruits, 
Behold Ihcm in their various bloom and ripeness. 

[T/h'i/ dress their altars, and kindls ajlame upon them, 

Abel. .My brother, as the ekler, oiler first 
Thy prayer and thanksgivin;? witb sacrifice. 

Cdln. No — I am new to this; Icail thou the way, 
And I will follow — as I may. 

Abel {linccUnrj). O Cod! 

^\'llo made us, and who breathed the l)reath of life 
A\'itliiii our nostrils, who hath blessed us. 
And s])ared, despite our fatlier's sin, to malcc 
His cbildreu all lost, as they might have been. 
Had not Tliy justice lieen so teuii)crM with 
The mercy which is Thy deligiit, as to 



170) r.i/.v. [act ii\ 

AoiMi'il :i jiMnliMi liko ;» I'ai-Jliliso, 

C'oiupinvd with our •iival crimes : — Solo Lord of linht ! 

or ;;ooil, lunl ,«•'"'■>', iiinl otornity; 

\\'ili\oiH whom Jill" wore evil, ami with whom 

!No(iiiii>>' cjin on', oxoont to soino -iood oiul 

(.)!' Tiiiiio omiiiiiotoiit Iumu'voKmico — 

Inscniiahlo. hiil slill to ho fullillM — 

Acooiit iVoiii out ihv hiuuliK' lirsl of shoiiiiord's 

Virst of iho tii->t-lu>ru lUioks— -ui otVorinu', 

111 il-^i'if iiotliiiiu' — as what otlVriii;;' i-aii ho 

iVni;i\t luilo 'IMioo ? — hut yot aooei>t it for 

Tho thauks;^i\ iuL;' ol' him" who spreails it in 

'riio I'ai'o ol' Thy hiuh hoavoii, howiiii;- his own 

I'.von to tlu> ihisi, of whioli ho is, in hoiuir 

01" 'I'iioo, ami (if Thy nanio, i'or ovornioro ! 

Citiii (sfdiidiiiii trrrf diiriiii/ t/iix spcvc/i). Spirit ! whalo'oi 
or whosoo'or Thou art, 
(>mni|Hitont, it may ho — and, if ji'ood, 
Sliowii in tlio oxomption of Thy doods tVoiu tvil; 
.1oho\:ih uiHMi oarth! and (iod in hoavou! 
Ami it may ho with othor nanios, hoo4M+so 
Thino atliihutos sooni many, as diy works: — 
It" Thou must ho iiropitiatod with prayors, 
'J'ako tlu'iu! ir tlioti must ho iiidiiood wiih altars, 
And sollonM with a saorilioo. roooivo thoin ! 
Two hoiiiii's iioro orool ihom unto Thoo. 
If Thon lov'st hlood, tho shophord's shriiio wliioh smokes 
On my ri;;lit hand, hath shod it for Thy sorvit-o 
In tho lirst of his llook, whoso limhs now ivck 
In sanu'uiiiary inoonso to Thy skios; 
Or if tiio swoot and hKioniiir;' fruits of earth, 
And mihlor soasons, whioh tlu' unslainM turf 
1 sproad thoin on now otVors iu iho I'aoo 
1)1' tlio liroad sun whioii ripou'd thom, may sooni 
tiood to Tlioo, inasmuoh as tiiox- havo not 
SiitVoi-'d iu limh or lifi>, and ratlior form 
A saniiilo of Thy works, ihan supplioalion 
To look on ours! If a shrino without victim, 
And altar without ii'orc, may win Thy favor, 
Look on it ! And l\)r him wlio drosscth it, 
lie is— such as 'I'hou inadVt liim ; and socks nothing 
M'hioh must lie won hy kmnlinL;'; if ho "s evil, 
Strike him! Thou art omnipotont, and may'st — 
For what can ho oppose ? If ho he jrood, 
Stnko him, or spare him, as Thon wilt ! since all 
IJcsts upon Thee; and yood and evil seem 
To have no jiowcr Ihemselves, save in Thy will; 
And whether tliat ho u'ood or ill I know not, 
ISot hoini;' omnipolent, nor lit to jiidn'O 
(.>mnipotom'o, hut merely to oudiiro 
Its mandate; whioh thus far I have oiuhired. 

[Tlirfire upon tho altar of .\.\vk\j ki ndU's into a column of 
t/it' bri(i/iti\if jUim \ and ascends to /icaron ; tc/ii/o a 
tc/iirlicind f/irmcit dmcn the altar of C.vix, aiut scatters 
t/u'Jruits abroad upon the earth. 



BCENK I.] CAIN. 277 

Abel (hnrcUmj). Oli, liiotlicr, pray! J(:!iovitli 'h wroili 

Willi Wwv. 
(^ain, Wliy hu ? 

Ahcl. 'J'liy iriiilrt iiro w.iiU-v' A un (In- <;iii!i. 

Cain. Vvtnn (•Jirtli ll'ioy ciuik!, (o {'jtrlli i I, lljcnj ivliiri]; 
Tlicir sci'd will licur rr<;.sli Cniil, tli(.T(: cl'd IIk' NiiiniMci : 
'J'liy Imiiil dcsli-oircriii;,'- proMiicM-s Ix'llcr; Mc'(t 
How liciivrii licks lip the liiiiiics, wlici) lliick willi l)loo<l ! 

Ahcl. 'I'liiiik iiol, ii[)()ii my oU'crin^^'s iiccuiitaiKx-, 
Hill, mak(! unotlicr ol tliiiio own licl'on; 
It is too laic, 

Cain. I will liiiilil no more iill;i,rs, 

Nor Hiill'cr luiy, — 

Ahrl (ri.yiii/). (,'aiii ! whi'.t, inciitic.df, Uioii ? 
Cain. 'I'o ('list, down yon vili; (liitlcrcr oC tlio cloutU, 
Till', Hiiioky li;irliiii;,'-(;r of lliyiliil! iiniycrH— 
I'liiiK! altar, with i'.i blood of lamhs liiid kids, 
Wliicli ('cd on milk, to l)o destroy 'd in lilooii. 

Ahi'l (opiiDsuKi Idiii). 'J'lioii Hiialt not,! -add not, impious 
worlin to impioiin 
\Vord>)l_ Jet, tliul, altar Hland — 'tit) ImllowM i.ow 
V>y 111'; immoilal (.-luiwuro of Jclioviili, 
J 11 His iu:(;(jptuu.-;o of the victliiiH. 

Cain. Hi,, I 

JUh plcamirn ! what wafl IIi!( liijrli pleasure in 
The fumes of seoreliin;,' flesh ami mnokiii),' blood, 
To the piiiii of the bicalin;,'- molhers, which 
Slill yearn lor their dciid oH'^piiii^^- ? or llie piui^rs 
Of tbc sad i;|noraiit vieliiiis iindcrnealli 
'I'hy pious knife? (;iv(; way! this bloody record 
■Shall not Hliind in tiie hiiii, t!o sImiiK! creii'litm ! 

Ahrl. IJrolher, ii'wi: bark ! thou sledl not, toiK'b mv altar 
\yith violciici; ; if that Iboii will, adopt it, 
I'o try aiiolber saeri/ice, 'lis thine. 

('uin, AiioIIkm' saeriliec; ! <;ive way, (;r else 

Tliat Kiierilieo may he 

A'xil. Whi'.t niean'st thou '< 

Cain. (iivc— 

fiivc! way! --thy (lod loves blood!— Ilien look to il :— 
(jive w^ay, en; lie lialh inorvl 

Ahrl. Ill 1 1 In (,r|.,.,,( ijiuik;, 

T Mliiiid l)(;tween tlie(; and the Bhrine wliieli halb 
Had His ar'(!(;plaiiee. 

('aiii. If (,||„|| lov'.st thys.'lf, 

Stand back till I have strew'd this tiiri' aloiiK 
Its nalivi; soil ; -else — — 

Ahrl (t)jtpt)Hin(j him). I lovo (iorj far more 
Than lif<;. 

(Juin (Htrikinrj him with iihrrunl mi Ihr tritijilrn, vhirh fig 
iii..(Urh<!H from Ihr ii.llai). 
Then taKc' thy life iiiil(( Iby (;(,.|, 
Hiiiee III! loves lives. 

Ahrl (JallH). What hast thou doni;, my brother f 

Cuin. JJrother ! 
^ Ahrl. (> {;,,i\ ! n^eeive Thv s(;rvant, mid 

Foryivc his slayer, for he knew n<;t wliitt 



J78 CAiy. [.vfT III. 

IK' dill— Cain, •x'wc me — yivo luo tliv luiinl ; uiul tell 
l\...r /ilhih 

6'({//» (after a moment's stupefaetion). Mi/ Imiul! 'lis all 
red, Mini with — 
W\\\x[ ? [. I long n:inse. — LooJdnq shwhj round. 

Wlu'i-i' am I? alone!" AVliero 's Abel ? whoro 
Cain ? Can it he that ! am he ? My lirolher, 
Awake — wliv liest thou so on the ;i'i'een earth ? 
'Tis not the "lioiir of slnniiier; — wliv f^o )iale ? 

What, hast thou ! thon wert full of life this morn ! 

Ahel! I pray thoo, mock mo not ! 1 nmote 

Too liereely, hut not fatally. Ah, why 

A\onli!sl dim oppose me ? This is moekci'v; 

And only done to clannt me : — 'twas iv blow — 

And hut a blow. Stir — stir — nay, only stir! 

\\'hv, so — that's well! — thou bruiUh't;t.! breallie upon me! 

O li(Hl! () (iod! 

Abel {reri/ fiiiiitlj/). What's he who speaks of (iod ? 

Cain. Tiiy murileror. 

AheL ' Then may tJod foruivi- him ! Cain, 

Comfort poor Zilliili :— she has but one Uirotlur 
I^ow. [ A mcL f//Vs. 

Cain. And T none! — V.^io makes mo brotherless ? 
Ills eyes are open ! thei\ he is not dctd ! 
l>eatl'i is like sleep; and sleep shuts down onr lids, 
]lis lips, t(n>, are apai't; wiiy then he breathes! 
And yet I feel it not.— His heart !— his heart ! 

J-et ilic see, doth it beat i" ru'lhinks No! — no! 

'J'his is a vision, else 1 am become 

The nati\e vi' another and W(n-se world. 

The earth swims round me: — what is this? — 'tis wot; 

( Puts /lis liJiul to his brow, and then looks at it. 
And yet there arc no dews! — "I'is blood — my blood — 
ISly bi'other's and my own! and shed by me! 
'J'hen what luive 1 further to do with life, 
.Since 1 have taken life from mv own llesh ? 
.l?ut he ean not bo dead ! — Is sifenec death ? 
Jso; lie will wake: then let me watch ov him. 
Life cannot lu" so slii^ht as to be ipuMieli'd 
Thus ipiicklv ! — ho hath s)>oken to n;e since — 
Whiit shall i say to him r— My brother!— No: 
lie will not answer to that name; for brethren 
yniite not each other. Yet — yet — speak to mc. 
Oh for a word more of tiiat uentle voice. 
That 1 may bear to hear my own a|;'ain! 

Enter Zii.l.vii. 

Zillah. 1 beard a heavy s<nind ; what can it be ? 
'Tis Cain, and watchiui;- \>y my husband. What 
Dost thou there, brother ?" Dolli ho .sleep ? t)h, lu'aven ! 
AMiat means this paleness, and yon stream ? — Nu, no! 
It is not blood ; for who wonKl shed his blood .' 
Alu'l ! what's this ? — who hath done this ? He moves not; 
lie bn-athes not : anil his hands ilropdown from mine 
With stony lifclcssnoss! Ah! cruel Cain! 



SCENE I.] CAIN. 279 

Why ciiin'Rl, tliou not in timo to snvo Iiiiii from 
1'liis violciu'o ? Wlmt-t'vtn- liiitli iissMilM liiin, 
'riioii wiTt, llio stniii^cr, and slioiiM'sl liiivc sl('|)|)M in 
]'>i'l\vi'('n liiiii imd ii;^';^r('ssi()ii ! l''iillicr! -d';\<'! - 
Allah! — c'ouu; iutlici'! I)c;ilii is in llic worjil! 

[1-l.rit /ii,i,Aii, caWiui an licr Parents, S^o. 
('(tin {so/iix). Anil will) liiith liroiij^iit him there? — 1 — who 
iiidior 
Tlic n;inic oC Dcnlh so <lcc|ily, (IkiI Ilic lli. nielli, 
EniiMiisonM all my iilV, licl'ui'c I knew 
His iis|i<'cl— I \\:i\(: led liiin iici'c, imd ;^iv('n 
My liriilhcr to his cold :ind siill ciiiliriicc, 
As il' he wonhi not have assiTlcd lii.s 
liicxorahlc chiim wiliiont my iiich 
I am a\v/dve at last — a dreaiy dri-niu 
Had nKiddiu'd me; — Imt At' shall ne'cn' iiwakc. 

I'.ii/i'i- Adam, ICve, Adah, nml /ii,r,Air. 

Adam. A voieo of woe from /illah hrin^^s nic Jicro. — 
What do i see ? — 'Tis true! — My son! -my son! 
AV'oniaii, behold the sin-pent's work, and thine! [7Vj EvK. 

Kr<t. Oh ! sjx^ak not of it now : the serpent's fanys 
Are in my heart. ISIy hest Ixdoved, Abel! 
Jehoxah ! (his is |)unishment beyond 
A mothi'r'.s .sin, to tako hini, I'roin nie! 

Adam. Who 

Or what liath done this dciod ? — speak, C'ain, since thou 
Wert present; was it some more hostile anjitd. 
Who walks not with .(chovah ? or sonu^ wihl 
Brule of the forest .> 

Kru. Ah! a, livid li-ht 
Breaks throu;;h, as from a, tbundcr-clond ! yon braTid, 
]\!ass\- and bloody! snatch'd IVoni olf the altar, 
And liliu'k v.ith smoke, and rinl with ■ 

Adam. Speak, my son*! 

Rpeak, and assure ns, wretched as wi- are. 
That we are not more miserable still. 

Adah. Wpeak, Cain! and say il was not thou! 

Ekc. It was. 

I see it now : Ik; hauf^s his jrnilty head, 
And covers his ferocious eye with hands 
Incai-nadine. 

Addh. AFolhcr, thmi dost him wronj;' — 

( 'ain ! clear thee froni Ibis burriblc accusal, 
Which yricf wrin^^s IVcini oiii- parcni. 

Eve. Hear, .Ichovah! 

May the eternal serpent's ciirsi' be: on him! 
I'or hi! was (ilter for his seed than ours. 
May all his days he desolate. May 

Adah. Hold! 

Curse him uol, niolbcr, for be is thy son — 
Curse him nul, ninlhcr, for he is my brother, 
And mv bclrolh'd. 

Ere' lie liaDi left Ihce no brother— 

Zillah no husband- me /;o .sr(/( / I'oi-tliiis 
1 eurse him from my si;.';lit lor evermore! 



2S0 CAiy. [\cr 111. 

All bonds I luviik hchvoiMi us! us lie In-oko 

Tliut of his niituiv, in von O iloath! iU>ath! 

AVliy didst tlum not tiiko me, who iirst. inonrr'd thoo ? 
M'li'v (lost, thou not. so now ? 

Adam. Evo! Id. not this, 

Thy iiiitnnil i^vwf, loud to impioty ! 
A houvy doom wiis loiii; Cori'sookcn to ns ; 
And now thiit it. hoyins, let it lie 1)oimu" 
In sufli sort us inuy siiow our (iod, that wo 
Aro I'uitht'ul sorviiuts to Hi.'; holy will. 

Jiro (poiii/iiii/to <'ain). His will! tho will ot you incur- 
nuli> si)iril, 
or tlculh, whom i have hrouf^ht upon the oarth 
To sirow it with the dead. May all llio cnrsDS 
()f lito he on him ! iiud his u"oi\ios 
Drivo him forth o'or (ho wihiornoss, like n3 
From l'',dou, (ill his childrou do hy him 
As ho did hv his hrothor! May iho swor>ls 
And winjis of tiory ohoruliim ^mh'suo iiim 
Hy duv and nif^lit — snukos siirnii;- up in ids path — 
Eurth's iVuits l)o ashi's in his moMlli--lhi^-k:avod 
On whioh ho lays his houd to sloop ho strowM 
With scorpion:!"! Iviay iiis droums ho of his victim ! 
His wakin;^' u contimiiil droad of (loath ! 
JMuy the clour rivers turn to hlood, us ho 
iStoops down (o stain tiicm with his rujiini;' lip! 
!Mny every element sihmi or oiian<;:o to iiim ! 
^iav ho livo iu the punn's wliich others die with! 
Anil death itself wu\ somothini;' worse thun deuth 
To l;im who tirst jiciiuuintod him with mun ! 
llcnoo, frulricidc! henceforth that word is <\iin, 
Thronj^h all the I'omini;- mvriads ol' mankind, 
Who shall nlihor thee, thonuh thou wcrl their sire! 
.May the i^ra^s willu'r from thy feet! (ho woods 
Deny (hoc shelli'r! t'artli u homo I (ho diis( 
A {•fuve ! (ho sun liis linli( ! und houveu lior (iod ! [Krif EvE. 

Adam. I'uin! i;-ot tiioe fordi: wo dwell iu> nuuv tojjother. 

l")opar( ! und leave (ho dead (o mi 1 am 

lloneeforlh alone we ne\cr must meet more. 

Adah. Oil, part not witli him (hns, my father: do nut 
Adii thy lice)) curse to ICvo's upon his head ! 

Adniii. I curse him not: his spirit he his eurse. 
t^omo, Zillai\! 

'/.il'dh. i must wutoJi by «ny husband's eorso. 

Adtiin. Wo w ill retui-n uu'uin, when he is ^ono 
Who hutli provided for us this divud otliee. 
(,\>nu', Zilluh. 

y.illii/i. Yet <ini> kiss on yon pale clay. 

And (luxe lips once so warm — my heart ! my heart ! 

\I-^j-rii»t'.\v\M «(i</"/.ii.i,.\ii, irffpiiui. 

Adah, ("aiu! thou hast lu'urd, wo nmst p> forth, lumnady, 
So shall our children bo. 1 will bear I'.uoeh, 
And yi>ti his sisicr. I'.ro the sun docliiu-s 
Ijot us depart, nor walk the wilderness 
Under (ho cloud of iiiyht. ^iuy, tijiouk to ine, 
To mH — thiiui own. 



st-'KNf: 1.] cAfy. 281 

Cain. Lcav(':iic! 

^:¥'- , , , Why, nil l,„v(, l..n \]u'c. 

'-'""• Am. ulicivlorc liiiMcivm, tl,„u ? J)„sl th„i, ,.„t Icar 
lo dwell Willi (.110 who hiilli (Ioik; this ? 

- , ^'¥'- I f<ur 

Aolhiiiji- (■vccpt (o IcjiVf! llif(>, iniich an I 
^ihriiiU rn.iii IIk; dccii which l(;;iv(!S l,lic(. hrndicrlcMH 
J iiiiisl not speak of tiii«— it is hulwccii Ihc; 
And tlio ^Tcjit (Jod. 

A Voice from within exclaims, Cuin! (;;iiii' 

V-f'^V/ • ■„■,.., JI''M.r'M,lh-,u (lull, voice? 

J /ic votce wUlun. Cuin! Cam! 

•^"'"^'- Jt Hoin„le(h like ail aiifrcl's u,w. 

Enter the Anoki. op thic Ijoud, 

Anijc}. AVhcfc w tliy Imithcr Abel ? 

My hrollior'H knopor ? 

AntjeL r'uin! whfithiwt Ihoii done? 

J he voice of thy Hhiiu hrotjicr's hlood eiies oiil 
Kveii lioiii liie eromid, niilo the Loid !— Now .iVl IIk.u 
J.iirs.'d h,mi Ihe e;ulli, which opciiM late h('r iiioiiih 
lo diujk thy hrodicr'i; hlood (Vo.ii thy niMli haii.l. 
ll<.Mi.'clortli whia. thoii iihalt till the iixouiid, it hIimII not 
1 le d thee her strciiyt.h : u fiiuiiive shall Ihon 
iic li'oiii thiM day, and va^rahond on eai-lh ! 

/Jr/aA. This piinisliiiiciit in more than he can hear 
15(;liold, thou (Irivesi, him irom the laee ol' eaill. 
And /i;om the (ace ol" (;od Mmil he he hid. ' 

A liiLHtivc and vaK-ahond on earth. 
Twill conio to pass, that whoso fiiidclh Jiim 
bhiill nlay him. 

c.'^'m'"; " , V/ould they eould ! hut who are they 

bliall Hlay mo ? Whore are these on tho lone earth 
As vet unpeopled ? 

Amel. Thou hast Hliiin Ihv hrother, 

And who shall warrant thee ax'a.inst th'v son ? 

/lf/«A. AntreloC Li^zlit! he merciliii; nor say 
J liat this jioor achinu' hrcast now nourishes 
A niiir.lcrer in my hoy, and of his lalher. 

Aiit/rl. Tiicn he wo"iild hut he what his latJier is. 
J>i<l not fli(^ milk of Kve (rive mitrinieiit 
Jo him thou now seest so Ix.'snicar'd with hlood? 
ihe Iralrieide mifiht well eufrendi^r parricides.— 
IJut it Khali not he so— the Lord thy (io.l 
And mine eommaiideth me to set I'lis seal 
On (Jain, so that he niav «(. forth in safety 
\V ho Mlay(,'th Cain, a sevenfold ven-eance shall 
He taken on his liead. Come hither! 

Woiihlst thou with me? 

Aiufcl. To mark upon thv hrow 

i.xeniption from such <lee<ls as thou liast done. 

Cain. No; let me did 

Angd. _ Jt uiust no! he. 

[The Amji;i. hHs the mark on. Cain's hrovk 



282 CAiy. [ACT 1- !. 

Cain. Tt Ininis 

My lu-dw, hut Tiouj;'!!! to tli;vt which is M-ithiii it. 
Is there more ? lei lue iiieel it as 1 luiiy. 

Ain/f/. Stei-i\ liMst tiioii heeii and stlihhovii fi-oiu tlic woinU^ 
As the ;^Toim(l llioii uiiisl lieiieerorlh lill ; hut lie 
'Pliou sle\v's( was ocntU. as the (locks he tended. 

Cain. Al'ter the I'all too soon was 1 hi';;otten; 
Eve yet my mother's mind sulisideil from 
The serpent, and my sire slill mourn'd lor I'^don. 
That which I am, I am ; I did not seek 
For life, nor did 1 make myselC; Iwit could 1 
AVith my own death rciieem him from llie dust — 
And whv not so ? let him relnrn to dav, 
And 1 lie ;:liastly ! so shall he ivslored 
]?y (iod the lil'eto liiui He loved; and taken 
I'l'om me a. hein^' I ne'er loved to hear. 

A)i<j('l. Will) shall heal murder? what is done is done; 
Go lorlh ! I'ldlil thy days! luul he thy deeds 
Unlike the last ! " " ' [Tlir X-HQr.t, disappears. 

Adah. He's ^ono, let lis fjo foiHi; 

I hear our little ICiioch ery within our howcr. 

Cain. Ah ! little knows he what he weefts for! 
And 1 who have shed hlood cannot shed tears! 
l?ut the lour rivers woidd not clcanst" my soul. 
Think'st thou \\\\ hov will hear (o look on me ? 

yUlah. ir 1 thout^lit that ho would not, I would— 

Cain (infcrniptiitij livr). No, 

No moi'c of threats: we have had too many of tluuu: 
Ch) to our children; 1 will follow thee. 

Adah. 1 will not leave thee lonely with the dead; 
Let us de])arl to^-othei-. 

Cain. Oh ! thou doad 

And everlasting witness! whose nnsinkinj; 
Blood darkens earth and hoaven! what thou rMW art 
I know not! hut if thmi sees! what /am, 
I think thou will forgive him whom his (Iod 
t^an ne'er foryivo, nor his own soul. — I''arew'ell! 
] nmst not, dare not touch what I have made thee. 
I, who sprung from the same womh with thee, draiu'tl 
The same hreast, ciasp'd thee often to my own, 
In i'ontlness hrotlu-rly and hoyish, I 
Can never meet thee m(n-e, nor even dare 
To ilo that for thee, which (hou shonldst have done 
]<'or me — compose thy liudis into their ^^rave — 
The first ;;ravi' vet duj;' for mortality. 
IJut who hath diiir that p-ave ? Oh" earth ! Oh, earth ! 
For all the fruits thou hast ivnder'd to me, I 
Give thee hack this. — Now for the wilderness! 

[Ai>Ail sfoop.s (loivii aud A-ixsrs the hod;/ of AUEL. 

Adah. .\ (Treary, and an early doom, my hrother, 
Has heen thy lot ! Of all who mourn for thee, 
1 alone must not weep. My otiiee is 
ITenceforth to di-v up tears, and not to shed them: 
But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn like me, 
Not only for thyself, hut him who slew thee. 
Now, Caiu! 1 will diviile thy harden with thee. 



SCENE I.] CALV. 28.') 

Cmn. F.'istwfii'd from Eden will wo liikc our wny : 
'Tis Un: inost, (IcisoiiitL", and suits my slcps. 

Adah. ]a-m\ ! tlioii sliult l)c my /iiiidc, iiiid iniiy our (jod 
Be tliiiio ! Now let us ciirry forih our cliildrcu. 

Cain. And kt; who liotli tlicrc was cliildluss. I 
Have (lri(|d the fountain of a ^icntli^ race, 
Wliicl) nii^lit have graced iiis i-ccont marria','-c' coufii, 
And mi^lit liavo tt;m|)ci''(l tliis stern Mood of min(\ 
Unitin;,'' willi our ciiildroii Abel's oll'sitriiiif ! 
OAbel! 

Adah. Peace be wil^h him ! 

Cain. But with me/ [Exeunt. 



THE CURSE OF MINERVA 



" Pallas to hoc vulnero, Pallas 
Immolat, et pociiam scelerato ex saiiguhio surait." 

jEneid. lib. xii. 



Athens: Capuchin' Coxvent, March 17, ISll 
Slow sinks, more lovely ere his raec-be run, 
Along' Morca's hills tlic setting sun; 
Not, as in northern dimes, obscurely bright, 
But one uneloudeil blaze of living light; 
O'er the hush'cl deep the yellov/ beam he throws, 
Gilds the green wave that trembles as it glows : 
On old iEgina's rock anil Hydra's isle 
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile ; 
O'er his own resions lingering loves to shine, 
Thougli tliere his altars are no more divine. 
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss 
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis ! 
Their azure arches througli the long expanse, 
More deepl}' purpled, meet his mellowing glance, 
Antl tcnderest tints, along their siunraits driven, 
Mark his gay course, and own the hues cf heaven, 
Till, darkly shaded from the land and deep, 
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep. 

On such an eve his palest beam he cast. 
When, Athens ! here thy wisest look'd his last. 
How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray, 
That closed their raurder'd sage'sf latest ilay; 
Not j'et — not yet — Sol pauses on the hill. 
The precious hour of parting lingers still ; 
But sad his liglit to agonizing eyes. 
And dark the mountain's once delightful dyes; 
Gloom o'er the lovely land he seem'd to pour, 
The land where Phcsbus never frown'd before ; 

* Tills satire on Lord Elgin for bringing the remains of Grecian art ft-om the 
Partlioiiiin to Eni,'hni(l was not piiblishocl by Lord Hyron. He suppressed it, and 
used the lioautilV.i niiciiing lines for his Corsair, it was published four years 
fttter his death, in Isi'.S. 

t Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before .snnset (the hour of execu- 
tion), notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went 
down. 

284 



THE CURSE OF MIXERVA. 285 

But ere lie sunk below Cithppron's head, 
The cup of woe was quaff' d— the spirit fled ; 
The soul of him that scorn'd to fear or lly, 
Who lived and died as none can live or d'ie. 

But, lo ! from hiffh Ilvniettus to the plain, 
The queen of nij,dit asserts her silent reign:* 
No murky vapor, herald of the storm, 
Hides her fair face, or yirds her glowing- form ; 
With cornice glimmei-ing as the moonbeams play, 
There the white column greets her grateful ray; 
And bright around, with quivering beams beset, 
Her ciublem sparkles o'er the minaret : 
The groves of olive scatter'd dark and wide, 
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide. 
The cypress sadtlening by the sacred mosque, 
The gleaming turret of the gay kiosk.f 
And sad and sombre 'mid the holy calm, 
Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm : 
All, tinged with varied hues, arrest the eye ; 
And dull were his that pass'd them heedless' by. 

Again the ^gean, heard no more afar. 
Lulls his chafed breast from elemental war: 
Again his waves in mikk'r tints unfold 
Their long expanse of sapphire and of gold, 
Mix'd with the shades of many a distant isle, 
. That frown, where gentler ocean deigns to smile. 

As thus, within the walls of Pallas' fane,+ 
I mark'd the beauties of the land and main, 
Alone, and friendless, on the magic shore, 
Whose arts and arms but live in poet's lore ; 
Oft as the matchless dome I turn'd to scan, 
Sacred to gods, but not secure from man. 
The past return'd, the present seem'd to cease, 
And Glory knew no clime beyond her Greece ! 

Hours roll'd along, and Dian's orb on hi"-h 
Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky; " 
And yet unwearied still mv footsteps trod 
O'er the vain shrine of niaiiv a vanish'd god ; 
Eut chiefly, Pallas! tiiiue; When Hecate's glare, 
Check d b>' thy columns, fell more sadly fair 
O'er the chill marble, where the startling tread 
Thrills the lone heart like eclioes from the dead. 
I^ong had I mused, and treasured every trace 
The v.-rcck of Greece recorded of her race, 
When, lo ! a giant form before me strode. 
And Pallas hail'd me in her own abode ! 

* The twiliKht in Greece is much shorter than in our own coimtrr; the Aa^ 
!n winter are lon^-er. but in summer of loss duration JU'nrj, ine aayg 

«f Oh .'^'°^'\'r '^ 'P""l<ish summer-hoiiso ; the palm is without the im-sont walls 
of Athens, not lar ti-.,m the temple of Theseus. I„.tween which and the tree the 
wan^ nitcrvenes. Cephi.,ns- stream is indeed scanty, and lUssus has no streai^ 
1 Tlic Pasthcnon, or Temple of Jlincrva. 



286 '^^^ CURSE OF MINERVA. 

Yes, 'twas Minei-va's self; but, ah! how changed 
Since o'er the Dardan field in arms she ranged! 
Not sucli as erst, by licr divine command, 
Ilcr form appcar'd from Phidias' plastic hand: 
Gone were the terrors of her awful brow, 
Ilor idle njjfis bore no (Jor^on now; 
Her helm was dinted, anil the broken lance 
Seem'd weak and shaftlcss e'en to mortal f;'lance; 
The olive-branch, which still she deign'd to clasp, 
Shrunk from her touch and witlier'd in her grasp; 
And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky, 
Celestial tears hediunn'd her largo blue eye; 
Kound the reni cas(iuc hor owlet circled slow. 
And niourn'il his mistress with a shriek of woe! 

" Mortal ! " — 'twas tluis she spake — " that blush of shame 
Proclaims the Uriton, once a noble name : 
First of the mighty, I'oreniost of tlic free. 
Now honor'd less by all, and /east bv nio : 
Chief of thy foes shall Pallas still be found. 
Seek'st thou the cause of loathing ?-40ok around. 
Lo ! here, despite of war and wasting fire, 
I saw successive tyrannies expire. 
'Sciiped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth, 
Thy country sends a spoiler worse than both. 
Survey this vacant, violated fane; 
Kecou'nt the relics torn that yet remain : 
These Cccrops placed, this Pericles adorn'd,* 
That Adrian rcar'd when drooping Science niourn'd. 
What more I owe, let gr;ititudc attest — 
Know Alaric and Elgin diil the i-i'st. 
That all may learn from whence tlic plunderer came, 
Tiic insulted wall sustains iiis liateil name: 
For IClgiu's fame thus grateful Pallas pleads, 
lielow, his name — al)ove, liehold his deeds! 
V>v cvi'r hail'd with ('([ual honor here 
Tiic (Jotiiic nionarcli and the Piclisli peer: 
Arms gave the lirsl his right, the last had none. 
But basclj' stole what less b;iri)arians won. 
So when the lion (piits his M\ rei)ast, 
Next ]irowls the wolf, the tillliy Jackal last. 
Flesii, limbs, and blood tiie former make their own, 
The last i)oor brute securely gnaws the bone. 
Yet still the gods ;iiv Just, and crimes ;ire cross'd : 
Sec here what Ivlgin won, and what he lost! 
Another name with Ids pollutes my shrine : 
Behold where Dian's beams tlisdain to shine! 
Some retribution still might Pallas claim. 
When Venus half avenged Minerva's shame." f 

♦ Tlifa is spoken of tlio city in gonornl, and not of the Acropolis In partioular. 
Tlic temple of .Jupiter Olvnipius, liy some supposed tlie Pimtlieon, wivs flnisliod 
by Iliidrian ; sixteen eiiliunns are standing, of tlie most iieauliful marble and 
nreliiteotiire. 

t His Lonlsliiii's name, and that of one who no longer bears it, are carved con- 
splcMdiisly on tlie Partlienon ; above, in a part not far distant, arc {\w torn rem- 
nants of the basso-relievos, destroyed in a vain attempt to remove tlicm. 



THE CURSE OF MINERVA. 287 

She ccasctl awhile, and thus I dared reply, 
To sootlic the veu^eaiicu kiiidiiii;;' in her eye : 
" Dau^i'litcr of Jove! in Britain's injured name, 
A trtic-horn IJriton may the deeil dixhiini. 
Frown not on lOnjihuui; JOn^iland owrs him not: 
Athena, no! thy plunderer was a Scot. 
Ask'st thou the ditl'erenec ? From lair Phyle's towers 
Survey Bocotia; — Caledonia's ours. 
An<l well I know within that bastard land* 
Hath Wisdom's jjoddcss never held command ; 
A baiTcn soil, where Nature's f^-erms, confined 
To stern sterility, can stint the mind ; 
Whose thistle well betrays the nigjjard cai-th, 
Emblem ol" all to whom the land i>ives birth ; 
Each <jenial influence nurtured to resist; 
A land of meanness, sophistry, and mist. 
Each breeze from fog\iy mount and marshy plaih 
Dilutes with drivel every drizzly lirain. 
Till, burst at len^^th, each watery iicjul o'erflows, 
Foul as their soil, and frijiid as their snows. 
Then thousand schemes of pettdance and pr-'.e 
Dispatch her scheming children far and widi! : 
Some east, some west, some everywhere buC flfl.tt. 
In quest of lawless gain, tiicy issue forth. 
And thus — accursed be the day and vear! — - 
She sent a J*ict to play the felon here. 
Yet C'aled(jnia claims some native worth, 
As dull J5(eotia gave a Pindar birth. 
So may her lew, the lettcr'd and the brave, 
Bound to no clime, and victors of the grave. 
Shake otf tiic sordid dust of such a land, 
And shine like cliililren of a happier sti-and; 
As once of yore in some obnoxious plai-c, 
Ten names (if found) had saved a wretched race." 

" Mortal ! " the blue-eyed maid resumed, " once more 
Bear back my mandate to thy native shore. 
Though fallen, alas ! this vengeance yet is mine, 
To turn my counsels far from lands like tliiuc. 
Hear then in silence Pallas' stern behest; 
Hear and believe, for time will tell the rest. 

*' First on the head of him who did this deed 
My curse shall light, on hiin and all his seed; 
Without one spark of intellectual fire, 
Be all the sons as senseless as the sire; 
If one with wit the parent brood disgrace. 
Believe him bastard of a brighter race : 
Still with liis iiireling artists let him prate, 
And Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate; 
Long of tiieir jjalron's gusto let them tell. 
Whose noblest, nntive gusto is — to sell : 
To sell, and make: — niay Shame record the day! — 
The state receiver of ids pilfer'd prey. 
Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West, 
Europe's worst daulier, and poor Britain's best, 
* " Irish bastards," according to Sir Callaglian O'Bralaghaa. 



2SK '/•///; (''•!!>:/■: (}>•■' MiyEiiVA. 

Widi pnlsiid liMiiil -liilll liirii riicli iiiimIi'1 oVr, 

And own liiiiiscir iiii iiilMnl ol' rmiiMi'di'ii.* 

\W nil \\w liniisciN ciilIM iVoiii nil SI. *iiU'H' 

'riml iirl Miitl imlni'c iiiiiv roinimrc tlu'ii' Miylos ; 

W'liili' iiriiwny IhmiIi's in -Jliipid wniulcr sliirc. 

And iiiiii'vtl 111 liis l,iirdMlii|)'s ' sloin' sliuii' (lii'n>. f 

Kiiinid Ilii' llil'nM;^'d ;viiliw shall siiimli'iiii^' covcKiiihs crcv')), 

'I'll loiiiiivc and Inriilinijc, In prali' and |>('i'|i; 

W'liili' many ii laii;.;iiid nwiid, willi lim^ui;; .'.ij.;li, 

On ;;'ianl si'mIui's i'iimI-i tlio I'ni'iiins eye; 

The I'Duiu wilh IransiiMil ^^huici' ii|i|H'M1's Id skim, 

^■^'l murks ilic miivhly luick \\w\ Icn^lh of linili; 

Monrns <i'cr the dilVrrcnci' of iiuir and thru ; 

lOxclainis, ' 'I'lu'sc (in^'Us indeed were- pi'iiper nuMl ! ' 

DnnvH slijilil eiitnpiirisons {\i' f/u'sc wilh (hunr, 

Ami envies l,ais all lier Allie heanx. 

When nIuiII iv mudeni niiiid have swains like liioso? 

Aliis, .Sii- llaiiy is uo llei'cnlesl 

And last 111' all ainidsl the jinpinLr I'l'ew, 

Siinie ealm npeeladii', as lie lakes his view, 

In silenl indi^nalion, ini>;'d wilh ;:i'iiit, 

.\<lndi'es the plnndei', hnl ahliers Ihe lliief. 

Oh, lealli'd in life, nor pardimM in the tliisl, 

May hale pinsne his saerileji'iens Insl 1 

l.in'kM wilh the I'liul llial llied Ihe I'lphesian donio, 

Shall veni'.eanee rulluw I'ai' beyond Ihe londi, 

An<l i'lraloslralos [ and l'!l;;in shine, 

In many a hrandin;^' pa^e and l>nrnin>i' lino; 

Alikii reserved for aye to stand aeeni'sed, 

I'erehanei' the seeond hiaeker limn Ihe lii'sl. 

'■ So lei him stand llirou>il\ ii^j'es \v\ nnhoin, 
l'"i\M slaine on Ihe pedestal (if Seorn ; 
'riioii;.;h not lor him I'lone revenj^e shall wail, 
Hnl tils Ihy eonnlry lor her eonun^' late. 
lliM's wi're the deeds that tan;;hl her lawK-ss son 
To do what oil Itrilannia's sell' had iloni\ 
Look to Ihe llullie hla/.in^' I'rom afar, 
Your old alU \el monrns perlidions war. 
Not to sueh 'deeds did I'allas lend her aid. 
Or lireak the eomuael uhirh liersell' had nnide; 
l''ar from siadi eonnrils, fidm Ihe I'ailhless Held 
She lle.l hnl lel'l behind her i;or;ion shield; 
A fatal ^lil't that tm'ned yoni' I'riends to slono, 
And lel'l lost .Ulii(Mi hated and iilono. 

•' 1,00k to the l'',i\st, where (iim^jos' swarthy nioo 
Shall shake yonr tyrant *'mpire to ils base; 
lio! there llebellion lears her f;haslly lieml. 
And >iiinH<s the Nenu'sis of native dead; 

• Mr. Wi'st, on wv\\\u tlii' " l''.li:ln (•iillcctlim" (1 sll|ll>'>^<l< w» slii\H lu<nr of llio 
" AIiiThIiiiw " mill ".link Slii'pimi'il " I'lillorlliiii), iloi'liiivil lilmstilf "u luoro 
lvii>" III iirl, 

' t I'oiir Crllili wiiH sHillv i>ii//,IihI wln'ii llii' miirlili>s wi'iv t\i'»l cNlillilli'it iit KIkIh 
lli>lis(>; liK iir.|u'il II II wits iiMl " II sloiii' sjiop." Ill- was iIkIiI ; ll is ii sliiip. 

\ l'".riili>sii«h«s, Willi, in ni'ilcr til uuiUo Ills iiinao riMUomlu'rint, sot Ilro to tlio 
T<Mii|ilii nr Dluiiii III l';|ilii'Mis. 



THE CIIIISE OF MiyjC/iVA. 289 

Till IinliiM rollH II deep |)iir|>iir(Mil flood, 
Ami cliiiiiiM iiJK toiler iirrciii' of Norlln'i'ii Mood 
Ho iiiuv y<i puriHli !- I'mIIum, wlicii kIk! n-iiv(! 
Your i'rcA:-\i()vn rj^lilH, forhado yc to ciihIiivc!. 

" 1,00k on your (Spiiiu ! mIk; climpH IIk! jiiiiid hIh) hittCH, 
Hut lioldly r'liiM)is, arid llirusts you I'roiii lici' ^u,U:h, 
Ki'iir wiliirss, liii^ilil UiiroH'i!! ! Iliou riiusl, tell 
Wliosi' wcic llir sous (li.'il hriivi'ly I'ou^^^lil, iiiid fell. 
]{ul. LuHJiiiuiii, Mud iukI ilciir ally, 
(.';iu HUiiri' a I'i'W to li;.'lil, and ^lOMii'liiiiis lly. 
(^Ii, tfloi'irjUK (ii'ld ! Iiy l''ainiuc (icncly won, 
'I'lic (iaul I'd ires IVu' oucr, iiiid all in doiu; ! 
Jiul wlii-ii did I'lillas It'ucli that oii<; I'ctrcut 
llcl.i'icvcd llinu! loii;^' Olyuipiiids of defeat,? 

" Look lawt at lioiiiif — you lov(! not i/> look tln!ro. 
Oil the ;,'iiui Huiilc of ^•oul^ol•lll!^s drspair; 
Vourcily saddcus : loud tlioii;,(li l{i'\cl howls, 
Jlci<: {''amirx! faints, iiud yondcc UajiiiK! jn'owls 
hci; all alik<' of inori; <iv li^ss hcr(!fl ; 
>J<) inisfri'M Irciubic wlicn llicnt's uotliiitjr left.. 
* iJJcMt paper credit,' ♦ wlio sliall dare to Kiii^r ? 
It clours like lead ( ^'orrnpt.ion'H weary winjf. 
Y<'l- I'allan pinek'd eaeh premier liy the iNtr, 
Who ;^ods and men alike disdaiu'il to hear; 
Jiul one, I'eprnlanI o'er a hankrupl slatx;, 
Oil I'allas ealls, hut, etdls, alas ! toolat.c: 
1'lieii luvf.H lor * ♦ ♦ ; to that. MeiitfU' IxifidM, 
1'hou;rh he and I'allaH uev('r yet were i'rit^ndn. 
lliiii senaleN hear, whom ut^ver y<M, they heard, 
( 'ouleui|iluoUH our'e, and now no h;HS alisui'd. 
So, oiiee of yore, eaeh reasonahje i'ym; 
hwore failh and feally ti) liin Hoveri'iyu ' loif,' 
'J'liUH liail'd your riders Iheir pa,ti-ieiaii elocl, 
Ah J'y^'ypt ehose uu onion for a ;^«d. 

" Now fare ye well ! enjoy.yonr little hour : 
do, ffrasp tin; m/iikIow of your vaiiish'd power; 
(ilosK ()'(!!' (he failuri^ of each fondest, '■eli<!ine ; 
Your Htren;.'ih a name, your hhialed wealth a dreaoi' 
(ione i^ that ;.'old, the mai'vel of inaid<iu<l. 
And (liiales harl<r all that's left lndiind.t . 

JSi'o more the hii(lin;.',M, purchased near anrj far, 
Crowd to the ranks of mereiuiary war; 
'J'lie idle niereJiaiit on the uscJeHs (piay 
iJidops o'er the liah^s no hark limy hear away; 
Or, haek ictuiiiin";, «e<!M rejected stores 
Jtot |ueeemeal on his own eiicuiiihcr'd shores; 
'J'lii- starved meehanie lireaks his rustin;^' loom. 
And iles|ierate mans him 't^ainsl, the coining;' doom. 
Then ill tlii! seiiale of your HJiikin;; slate 
Bliow iiic llio iiiuii wliuHu coMtiHclH may tiuvu weight 

• " UI«!Mt (inpi^r cn'/llt ! lii«t, atid Ix-hI HHpply, 
'J'liut I<;iii)h (;ornipltr>ii IlKliti^r wIiimn Io lly." 

I'oi'ie. 
fTlic Ileal hikI Hover tniMlckeni In iipuclu. 



)yo Tin: rrusK or mixi-hva. 

Vain is csu-h voice whore tones eonlil once eoniinaiul; 

E'en laetitMis eoaso lo eliaiMU a factions lanil ; 

Yet JarriniT sects convulse a sister isle. 

And lifi'lit, with maiUlenin«; hamls the uiuliial jiile. 

•' 'Tis (lone, 'tis |iast, sineo Pallas warns in vain ; 
The Furies >eize her alxlicated i-ei^ii ; 
■yViilo o'er the realm tiiey wave their kindling hnuids, 
And wring her \ itals with theii- (iei-y hands. 
lint one eonvulsixe struggle stili remains. 
And (iaul shall weep ere Aliiion wear her chains. 
The iianner'd |)om|i of war, the glittering tiles, 
O'er whiwc gay tiMiipings stern IJellona smiles: 
The hia/.en li-umii, the sjiirit-stirrinu' drum, 
That hid ti\e foe dedani-e ert- tiiey come; 
The hero hounding at his country's call, 
The glorious death that consecrates his fall, 
Swell the young heart, with visit>nary charms, 
And hid it antedate the joys of arms. 
But Unow, a lesion you uiav yet he taught, 
\\"\[\\ death alone are laurels cheaply houglit : 
Mot in the eoutliet, llavoe seek-- deliglit, 
His day of nieix-y is the day of light. 
But when the lieVl is funglit. the haltlo won, 
Though dreneh'd with gore, his woes are hut begiiu: 
Ilis dee|iei' deeds as yet ye know by name; 
Tiie slaughter'd |icasant"and the ruvish'd dame. 
The ritled niausion and the loe-i'ea|i'd lield, 
111 suit witii souls at home, untaught to yield. 
8ay with what, eye along the distant down 
S\ould tlying hu'rgiiers mark tlie lila/.ing (own! 
How view the colmnn of aseeudinu llames 
Shake his red shadow o'er the startled 'I'hames ? 
Kay, iVowu not, Alhiou! for the toix-h was thine 
Thill lit sucji pyres fi'om Tagns to tiie Uhiue: 
Now slunild iliey luu-sl. on ti\y devoted coast, 
(io, ask thy liosoni wh»> deserves them most. 
The law oi" heaven and earth is life for life. 
And she who raised, in vain regrets, the strife.*' 



MAZEPrA. 



ADVIOUTIHEMENT. 

" Citi.ui qui rcmplinnait alorH cotto place <<tait iin Knitillinmino Polonai\ 
noiniiu' Ma/.cppa, i\i ilaiiH Ic palaliiiat dc Pddnlic!: il av.iil tHA ('Icvt'- piiKr? ilu 
Jean Ca»imir, ct avail piin !i Ha iiinir qiirlqiic tcliiliiro den licllcH l(•Hrc•^. Uiio 
iiilrini": <pi'ii I'll "I.iiiH Ha jt'iiiicsKi' .iv-i; la fnniiic il'mi n'lili'li""""!' I'dlimalH 
ayaiil tie tl(!tr)iiVLTto, Ic inarj Ic lit licr tout ini siir iin < licval CarmKlii.', ct Ic 
Inisna nllcr cii cot ilM. \,r < In v.il, i|iii ('I. ill dii payn <lc rUkraiiic, y rctoiiriia, 
cl y porta Ma/.cppa, dciiii iiiciri dc l,iii)/iic' cl dc faiiii. QiiclqucH paysaiis Ic 
Rccoiiriiront : il rcnla lonntrinpH p.irmi ciix, cl bc niniiala <laiiH phiHictirs CDiirHcs 
cuiitic liH Tail arc.".. La Bii|>('riiprilc dc bcs ImtiiorcH liil donna iciic ni"''!"'" 
conHid('r,itloii parnii Ich t'o«a<|iir'!( ; na tcpiitalinn K'intfnicnl ml <\r ioiir in jour 
oljli^ca Ic C/.ar A Ic laiic l'iiii(;c dc I'Llkraiiic." — Vui/i aikic, II isI. <lf i luirUs 
XII. \\ "/'■ 

"Lc roi (iiyant. rl poiirmiivi, cut tioii chcval tud sous liii ; Ic Colonel Oicta, 
lilctii', ct prrdant teml son r.n\\%, Itii donna Ic nicii. Ainsi on remit deux fois 
A clieval, daiiH Ra fiiit(r, cc toiKiui^rant (|ui n'avail pu y inuiilcr pcndnnl lc 
halaillc. "—//'/(/, p. aifi. 

" l,e roi alia par iin autre clicinin avcc qiiclciucH cavalicr». Le carroBsc, ou 
il dtait, roinpil dann la iii.nclif ; on !■• ninil a < liival. Pour cciniblc de dis- 
);race, il xV^ara pcndaiil la nuil d.iii". iiii l>ol ; ; l,'i, win courage iie poiivaiil pliiH 
HUppleer i*! Ki-H foneHcpuisi'cH, Ics dmilcnrB de »,i hlcKHiire devenucH plim insiip- 
porl.d)les p.ir 1,1 LitiKue, ion (lii'v.d I'l.iiit tonilx' dc lassitude, il se coiu.lia 
qucl(|UeH licini K .111 piid il'iiii .pine, en (Linger d'Ctro tsurprin a Imit iiiuiiicul 
',).ir Ics vaini|iii 111%, qui le ilu n li.iiint de loiia colcu." — IbitL p. aiK. 

2yi 



MAZEPPA. 



I. 

'Ti;\'AS after dread Tultowa's day, 

Wlion fortune left the royal Swcds, 
Around a slau<::hter'd army lay, 

No more to eonihat and to bleed. 
The power and j^lory of tlu' wia", 

li'aithless as their vain votaries, men, 
Had pass'd to the triuni|)hant Czar, 

And Moseow's walls were safe agaii^ 
Until a day more darlv and drear, 
And a more memorahle year, 
Should ti'ive to slau-ihter and to shame 
A nii^ihtier host and lianjihiier name; 
A ,t;'realei- wreelc, a deeper fall, 
A siioeli to one— a thunderbolt to all. 



Such was the hazard of the die; 

The wounded Charles was taught to {\y 

l?y day a.id nijzht, through fieUl and Hcow, 

Stain'd with his own and subjcets' blood; 

For thousands fell that tliulit'to aid : 

And not a voit'e was heard t' upbraid 

Ambition in his Imndiled hour. 

When truth had nouj^ht to dread from powcro 

His horse was slain, and Cieta ^ave 

His own — and died the Kussians' slave. 

This too sinks after many a leaj;iio 

Of w'cll-snstain'd, l)ut vain fati;:iie; 

And in the depths of forests, darklin<i| 

The wateh-lires in the distanee s]iarkling — 

The beacons of surroundinu' foes — 
A kino- must lay liis limbs at lenjith. 

Arc these the laurels and repose 
For wliieii the nations strain their strength ? 
They lay him by a savaue tree, 
In outworn nature's agony; 
His wounds were stilV— his liml)s were stark — 
The heavy hour was ehill and dark; 
The fever in his blood forbade 
A transient slumber's titful aid : 

292 



MAZEPPA. 293 

And thus it was; but yet tlirouj,"-!! all, 
Kiuji'Iikc the iiionarcli bore his fall, 
Ami made, in this extreme of ill, 
Ilis pan^rs the vassals of his will : 
All silent and subdued wei'c tliey. 
As once the nations round him lay. 

III. 

A band of chiefs! — alas, how few. 

Since but the llcetin;,' of a day 
Ilail thinn'd it; but this wreck was true 

And chivalrous : upon the clay 
Each sate him down, all sad and mute, 

Beside his monarch and his steed, 
For danjjer levels man and brute. 

And all arc fellows in their need. 
Amon^'' the rest Mazep|ia made 
His pillow ill an old oak's sliadc — 
llimself as rou^h, and scarce less old, 
Tbe Ukraine's Jlclman, calm and bold; 
But first, outspent willi Ibis loi;;;' course. 
The Cossack jirince i'id)l)'d down hi.s horse, 
And made foi- him a leafy bed, 

And smoolh'd his fetlocks and his mane. 

And slack'd his ^irlli, and stripp'd his rein, 
And joy'd to sec how well he i'<:i\; 
For until now he had the dread 
His wearied courser mi<iiit refuse 
To browse beneath the inidni>;ht dews: 
But he was hanly as his lord, 
And little cared i'or bed anil board; 
But spirited and docile too, 
Whate'er was to Ik; done, would do. 
Sbajcjry and swift, and strong' of limb. 
All Tartar-like he carried him ; 
Obey'd his voice, antl came at call. 
Ami knew him in the midst of all : 
Though thousands were around — and Night, 
Without a star, pursued her lliglit — 
That steed from sunset uiilil dawn 
Ilis chief would follow like a fawn. 

IV. 
This done, Mazeppa spread his cloak. 
And laid his lance beneath his oak, 
Felt il" his arms in order good 
The long day's inarch had well withstood — 
If still tbe powder fill'd the pan, 
•■ And Hints unloosen'd kept their lock — 
His sabre's hilt and scabbard i'elt. 
And whether they had chafed his belt; — 
And next the venerable rnan, 
From out his haversack and can. 

Prepared and spread his slender stock; 
And to the monarch and his men 
The whole or portion otler'd then, 



294 MAZEPPA. 

Witli far Ics'^ of iiuiuiotiid',' 

Than coiirlioi's at a liaiu|iR't woiilil. 

AihI C'liarlrs of this his sK'iulor share 

AN'ith siiiiii's ])art()()k a luonicnt there, 

To force of elieer :i j;reat('r show, 

Ami seem above both woiiiuls ami woe; — 

Ami tlu'u he said, — "Of all our baml, 

Thouiih linn of heart ami stronj>- of luiiul. 

In skirmish, niareii, or foraj^e, none 

Cun less have said or more iiave done 

Than lliee. Mazepiia! On the ciirlh 

ISo lit a pair had never hinh, 

Since Alexander's days till now, 

As thy liiieeiihalns and thon; 

All .Scytiiia's fame to thine should yield 

For itriekiui;' on o'er Hood and tield." 

^la/eitpa answer'd, — " 111 betide 

The school wherein I learn'd to ride! " 

(.^uolh Charles, — " (lid lletman, wherefore so, 

JSinec thou hast learn'd the art so well ?" 

!Mazeiii>a said, — " 'Twere lon^- to tell ; 

And we have many a league to fjir, 

"With every now and then a blow, 

And ten to one at least the foe, 

IJefore our steeds may j;raze at case 

Beyond tlie swift Rorysthenes: 

An'd, sire, your limits have need of rest, 

And 1 willbe the sentinel 

Of this your troop." — '' IJiit I request," 

Said Sweden's monarch, " thou wilt tell 

This tale of thine and I may reap, 

Perchance, tVoui this the boon of sleep; 

For at this nuuueui from my eves 

The hope of present slumber tlics." 

" Well, sire, with such a hope I'll track 
My seventy years of memory back : 
I think 'twas in my twentieth sprinir, — 
Ay, 'twas — when Casimir was klny — 
John Casimir,— I was his paj^e 
Six summers in my eai'lier a^o : 
A learned monarch, faith! was he, 
And most unlike your Majesty : 
lie made iu> wars, and divl not uaiii 
Kew realms to liise them back aiiain; 
And (save debates in \\'arsaw's i>iet) 
lie rei-iii'd in most unseemly quiet: 
Not that he had no enres to vex ; 
He loved the muses and the sex : 
And sometimes these so iVoward are. 
They madi' him wish himself at war; 
But soon his wrath hein^;' o'er, he took 
Another mistress, or new book : 
Ami then he "^ave prodigious fetes — 
All Warsaw ';;ather'd rouml his gates 



MAZEPPA. 29.5 

To txazc ii]ioii liis splcinlid court, 

Ami cliiinus, iin<l chiefs, of [)i'iuccly port; 

lie was tlic Polish Hok)iiioii, 

So sun;;' liis poets, nil hut one, 

Willi, heiii;^' unpeiision'd, made a satire, 

Ami hoaslcd that he could iiot Hatter. 

It was a court of Jousts and iniines, 

Where every courtier tried at riiymes ; 

Even I for once, jirodueeil some verses, 

And sijiii'd my odes " Despairinj^ TLyrsis." 

There wa,s a certain I'alatine, 

A count of far iind hi;.ih descent, 
llich as a salt or silver miru! : * 
And he was proud, ye may divine, 

As if from heaven he had heen scut: 
lie had su(;ii wealth in hlood and ore 

As few could nuUeh himeath the throne; 
And he wotdd ;;:i/,e upon his store. 
And o'er his pedij^rec^ would pore. 
Until hy some confusion led. 
Winch almost loolv'd like want of head, 

lie tliougiit their merits were his owu. 
liis wife wius not of bis opinion — 

I lis junior slic hy tliirty years — 
Grew daily tircul of his dominion. 

And aflei' wislies, liopes, and fears, 

To virtue a fi:vv farewell tears, 
A restless dream oi'two, some glances 
At Warsaw's youth, some songs, and dances, 
Awaited hut t"iie usual ehaiKX's, 
Tliose happy accidcmts wliich render 
The coldest danu's so very tender, 
To deck lier Count- with titles given, 
"i"is said, as passports into iu^iven; 
IJul, sli'ange to say, tliey rarely boast 
Of these, wlio have deserved them most. 

V. 
" I was a goodly stripling then : 

At seventy years I so may say. 
That thei-e wt're. few, or i)oys or men, 

W'lio, in my dawning time of day, 
or vassal or of knight's degree. 
Could vie in vanities with me; 
For I had strength, youth, gaiety, 
A ])ort, not like to this ye see. 
But smooth, as all is rugged now; 

For time, nud earc, and war have plough'd 
My vei'v soul from out mv brow; 

And thus 1 siiould be disavow'<l 
IJy all my kind and kin, could tliey 
Compare my d;i,y and yesterday. 
This change was wrongiil, too, long ere age 
Had ta'en my features for his page : 

* This compnrlsoii of u " .iit/l mliio " may, pcrlinps, l)o i)oririltto(I to a Pole, ua 
the woultli of the couutry consists groatly in tlic salt lulucs. 



296 MAZEPPA. 

"With years, yc know, have not declined 
My strenfjtlij my courage, or my mind, 
Or at this hour 1 should not be 
Telling old tales beneath a tree, 
With starless skies my canopy. 

But let mc on : Theresa's form — 
Methinks it glides before me now, 
Between mc and yon chestnut's bough, 

The memoiy is so quick and warm ; 
And yet 1 find no words to tell 
The shape of her I loved so well : 
She had the Asiatic eye, 

Such as our Turkish neighborhood 

Hath mingled with our Polish blood, 
Dark as above us is the sky ; 
But through it stole a tender light, 
Like the fii-st moonrise of midnight; 
Jjargc, dark, ant! swimming in tlie stream, 
Whicii sceni'd to melt to its own beam; 
All love, half languor, and half tire. 
Like saints that at the stake expire, 
And lift their raptured looks oiriiigh, 
As thougli it were a joy to die. 
A brow like a midsummer lake. 

Transparent witli the sun tlicrcin. 
When waves no nun'nuir dare to make. 

And heaven bcliolds her face within. 
A check and lip — but why proceed ? 

I loved her then — I love her still ; 
And such as I am, love indeed . 

In fierce extrciues — in good and ill. 
But still we love even in our rage. 
And haunted to our very age 
With the vain shadow of the past, 
As is Mazeppa to the last. 



" We met — we gazed — I saw, and sigh'd ; 
She did not speak, and yet replied ; 
There are ten thousand tones and signs 
We hear and sec, but none detines — 
Involuntary sparks of thought, 
Which strike from out the heart o'erwrought. 
And form a strange intelligence, 
Alike m^-sterious and intense. 
Which link the burning cluiin that binds. 
Without their will, young liearts and minds, 
Conveying, as the electric wire. 
We know not how, the absorbing fire. — 
I saw, anil sigh'd — in silence wept, 
And still rt'hictant tlistance kept. 
Until I was made known to her, 
And we might then and there confer 
Without suspicion — then, even then, 
I loug'd, and was resolved to speak ; 



MAZEPPA. 297 

But on iny lip^ tlu\v dicil ••vfi'.-iiii, 

'riic iicceiUs trciiiiiloiis iiiiil weak, 
Uiilil oiu" liimr. -Tlu'ro is si ^iiuiic, 

A frivolous iiiul foolish l>l:iy, 

AVhcrcnvilli \vc wliili! iiwny the ilay; 
It in — 1 have forgot tiic name — 
And wc to this, it seems, were sot, 
]}y some slninizc clianee, which 1 forget: 
I re(!kM not if 1 won or lost, 

It was ('noML;'!! for me lo ho 

8o near lo liear, and oil! to sec 
The lieinjj" whom I loved tlic most. 
I wateh'd her as a. scuitinel, 
(May oin's tliis dai'k niglit wateli as well!) 

Until 1 saw, and tlms it was, 
That she was ))ensive, nor prr<'(MVed 
Her oceuiialion, n(n' was grieved 
Nor glad to lose or gain : hut still 
I'lay'd on for hours, as if hei- will 
Yet hound her to tiur place, though not 
That hers migiit i)e liu^ winning lot. 

Tiien tin'ougii my hrain \\u: thought did pass, 
Even as a liasii of light ning iIkm-c, 
That there was souicliiing in her air 
Which would not doom me to iles|)air; 
And on tlie tlionght my words hrokc forth, 

All incoherent a:i tiiey were — 
TluMr eloi(uen(^e was little worth. 
But yet slu! lislenM — 'tis enough — 

\V1k) listens once will listen twice; 

Her heart, lie sure, is not of ice, 
And one refusal no rebnlf. 

VJI. 
" I loved, and was heloved Jigiiin — 

They tell me, sire, you nciver knew 

Those gentle frailties ; if 'tis true, 
I shorten all my joy or pain ; 
To you 'twould seem ahsurd as vain; 
Bnt all men arc not horn to reign. 
Or o'er their passions, or as yon 
Thus o'er themselves and nations too. 
I am — ()!• ratiun- was — a, ]irinec, 

A chief of thousands, and conld lead 

Them on where each would foremost bleed; 
Bnt could not o'er myself evince 
The like control. — Hut to resume : 

I loved and was heloved again; 
In sooth it is a liappy tloom, 

But yet where lia|)piest ends in pain. — 
We met in secret, and thc^ hour 
Which led me to that lady's bower 
Was fiery Expectation's dower. 
My tiays and niglils wi're notliing — all 
Excejii that hour wliich doth recall 
In the long lapse from voutli to age 



2i)8 MAZEPPA. 

No odior like ilself- IM irivo 

Tlio UUriiiiic buck ;i.u;iin li> live 
It (I'cr (iiici! iiioro, mid \w. ;i im^xt', 
Tlic hiippy I'iiji'o, who was the lortl 
Ui" one soYt heart, aiul liis own sword, 
And luid no otlier >xvu\ nor wcaltli 
yavc nature's ^''il't of yontli and health. — 
Wo mot in secret — donhlv sweet, 
Some sav, thev lind it so to nie(>t ; 
1 know not lliiil — I would have jziven 

J\ly lil'e l)ut Id lia\e cali'd lier mine 
111 the full vie\v of earth and heaven; 

For 1 did oft. and loiii,' repine 
That we could only meet by stealth. 

"For lovers there are ninny eyes, 

And such tlu're were on us; — the devil 
On such occasions should be civil — 
The devil !— I'm loth to do him wrong; 

It iiiiirht be some untoward saint^ 
M'lio would not Ix; at rest too lontr, 
Hut, to bis pious bile ,L;'iv(> vent — 
]?ut one fair iiii;iil, some Inrkiu!; spies 
iSiirpriscd and si'i/ed as both. 
The Count was soim^tliiny: more than wroth- 
I was iinarm'd; but if in steel. 
All cap-a-|»ie from head to heel, 
A\'hnt 'f^aiiist, their numbers could I do, — 
"J'wus near his castle, far away 

From city or from succor near, 
And almost on the break of day; 
I <liil not think to see another, 

JMy moments seem'd reduced to few; 
And with one prayer to Mary iSlothcr, 

And it may no a saint or two, 
As I resinn'd me to my fate, 
Thev led me to tin- castlo-jiate : 

Tlieresa's doom 1 never knew, 
Onr lot was henceforth sopara-to. — 
An aiii^ry man, ye may opine, 
"Was he, the proud Count Palatine; 
And he had reason t;ood to be, 

I>ut he was niosl enrajrod lest such 
An accident should elianeo to touch 
Upon his future pedigree; 
Nor less ania/ed that such a blot 
His noble 'scutcheon sliould have got, 
^^■hile he was hiuhest of his line; 
Hecaiise nolo liimscif he seem'd 
The lirsl of men, nor less he ilecm'il 
In others' oyes, and most in mine. 
'Sdeath, with a piK/r — i)orchance a king 
Had reconciled him to the thinjj; 
l?iit with a sliipliim' of a |iaji-e— 
1 Iclt — but cannot piiint his rage. 



I 




' Bring forth tlic hoi'se ! ' The horse wns hro.iirht 
In truth he was a noble steed." 

l'(i(j<> 21)9. 



MAZIirPA. 29!) 

IX. 

" ' Briiifj forth the liorso ! ' The horse wiis hroii;,'ht ; 
111 tnitli he W!is 11 iiolil(! stccil, 
A 'Pnrtar of \\w Ukriiiiie breed, 
Who look'il IIS Ihoiif^-li (he spe(^(l ol" fhou^^lit 
Were iu liis linilis; l)iit lie wiis wild, 

Wild ii.'i llie wild deer, iiiiil iiiitiHifj:lit, 
Witli tijiiir !Uid bridle iiiidefiled — 

'Twiis but ii day lie liiiil been eau(i'lit; 
, And siiortitifj, with erected niiiiie, 
/ And stni;>';;liii;,'' fiercely, hut in vain, 
/ In the i'lill foaiii of wralli and dreatl 
To me lh(! dcHcrt-borii was led ; 
Thi'v bound me on, tliat ineiiial Ihronf,', 
Ujion his back with many a tlioni;'; 
xjl'lien loosed him with a sudden lash — 
Away ! — away ! — and on we dash ! — 
Torrents less" rapid and less rash ! 

X. 

" Away ! — away ! — my'hrcath was gone — 

I saw not where he hurried on : 

'Twas scarcely yet the break of day, 

And on li(! IViam'd — away! — away! — 

'J'Ik! last of liiiman sounds which rose, 

As I was darted from my foes. 

Was liie wild shout ol' saviifj:e laiif,ditcr. 

Which on llic wind came roaring after 

A moiiKMil from llial rabbit! njut : 

With sudden wrath 1 wriMich'd my head, 

And snapp'd the cord which to Ihe inane 

Had bound my neck in lieu of rein. 
And, wiilhiiig half my Ibrm a-boul, 
llowl'd back my curse; but 'midst the thread, 
'I'lic tbundcr ol my (!Ours(M''s speed. 
Perchance tliev <lid not bear nor heed : 
It vexes mc — lor 1 would fain 
Have jiaid llicir instdt back again. 
I jiaid it well in al'l(M' days : 
There is not of I bat. casilc-gate. 
Its drawbridge and portcidlis weight, 
iStone, bar, moat, bridge, or barrier left; 
Mor of its lield a blade of grass, 

JSavt; what grows on a I'idge of wall. 

Where! stood the hearthstone! of the hiill; 
And many a time ye there iniglit pass, 
Nor drcMiu tliat c'(!r that fortress was : 
1 saw its turrets in a bla/i;. 
Their crackling battli^mcuts all cleft. 

And the hot lead pour down like rain 
From otf the scorcb'd and blackening roof, 
Whose thickness was not vciigcance-jiroof. 

They little thought that, day of )iaiii, 
Wbi'ii lauucli'd, as on the liglitiiing's Hash, 
Thcv bade nic to destruction dash. 

That one tlay 1 should come ajfiiin, 



300 MAZEPPA. 

With twice five thousand horse, to thank 

The (joimt tor his iincourtcons ride. 
Thcv pliiy'il iiic then a liilU'r iiruiik, 

\. hen, with the wild horse for my guide, 
They hoimd iiu; to ins ioaining llanit : 
At length I jilay'd tlicm one as I'ranlv— 
/'Tor lime at last sets all things even — 
I And if we do hut watch tlic hour, 
> There never yet was luimnn power 
Whieh eould evade, if uid'orgiven, 
■J'Ik' patient wcareh and vigil long 
■Uf liim who treasures up a wrong. 



XI. 

" Away, away, my steed and I, 

Upon the pinions of the wind, 

All human dwellings left hehind; 
We spetl like nu'teois tlnun^^h the sky, 
When with its eraekling suunil the night 
Is chequer'd wilii the northern light; 
Town — village — none were on oTTi- track, 

But a wild ))lain of ftu- extent. 
And hounded hy a forest hlack ; 

And, save (he seai'ce seen iiattlement 
On distant heights of some strong hold, 
Against the Tartars huilt of old, 
No trace of man. The year i)e1ore 
A Turkisii army had inarch'd o'er; 
And whei'e the Spain's hoof hath trod, 
Tiie verdure Hies the l)loody sod; — 
The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, 

And a hnv hreeze creot moaning by— 

1 could have unswer'd '.vith a sigh — 
But fast we Hed, away, away, — 
And I could neither sigh no'' jiray; 
And my cold swe;i1-drops fell like rain 
Upon the courser's lii'islling nuinc; 
lint, snorting still with rage anil fear, 
He Hew uiion his I'ar career; 
At times I almost thought, indeed, 
lie must have slaeken'd in his speed; 
But no— my hound and slender frame 

\\'as nothing to his angry might. 
And nuM-ely like a spur ln'canie : 
Each motion which 1 miule to frc« 
My swoU'n lind)s from their agony 

Increased his fury and affright: 
I tried my voice — 'twas faint and low. 
But yet lie swerved as from a blow ; 
And, starting to eai-h accent, sprang 
As Irom a sudden ti'umjtet's clang; 
Mciintimc my cords were wet with gore. 
Which, oozing through my lindis, ran o'er; 
Anil in mv tongue the thirst became 
A something lierier than tlame. 



MAZEPPA. 



" Wc near'd the wl<l wood — 'twas so wide, 

I saw no bounds on cither side ; 

'Twas studded with old sturdy trees, 

That bent not to tliu rouf^hest l)reeze 

Whicli howls down from .Sil)eria's waste, 

And strips tlio forest in its haste — 

But these were few and far between, 

Set tiiick witli shrubs more younir and green, 

Ivuxuriant with tlieir annual leaves. 

Ere strewn by thos(! autumnal eves 

That nip the "forest's foliage dead, 

Diseolor'd with a lifeless red, 

Which stands thereon, like stiffen'd gore 

Upon the slain wJien battle 's o'er, 

Ancl some long winter's night hath shed 

Its frosts o'er every tombless head, 

So eold and stark the raven's beak 

May peek nnpiereed each frozen cheek: 

'Twas a wild waste of underwood, 

And here and there a chestnut stood. 

The strong oak, and the hardy pine; 

But far ;ip;irt— ami wed it were, 
Or else a diifei'ent lot were mine — 

The iioughs j,'-ave way, and did not tear 
My limbs; and I found strength to bear 
My wounds, already searr'd witii eold — 
My bonds forbade to loose my hold. 
We rustled through the leaves like wind. 
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind; 
By night I heard them on the track, 
Their troop came hard upon our back, 
With their long gallop, which can tire 
The hound's deep hate and hunter's fire: 
Whcr(!'er wc flew they follow'd on, 
Nor left us with the n'lorning sun; 
Behind 1 saw them, s(!aree a rood. 
At dayi)rcak winding through the wood. 
And through the night had heard their feet 
Their stealing, rustling step repeat. 
Oh ! how I wish'd for spear or sword, 
At least to die amidst the horde. 
And perish — if it must l)e so — 
At bay, destroying many a foe. 
When first my courser's" race begun, 
I wish'd the goal already won; 
But now I doid)ted strength and speed. 
Vain doubt! liis swift and savage breed 
Had nerved him like the mountain roe; 
Nor faster falls the blinding snow 
Which whelms the peasant near the door 
Whose threshold he shall cross no more, 
Bewilder'd with the dazzling blast. 
Than through the forest-paths he pass'd — 



301 



302 MAZEPPA. 

Untircd, untamed, and worse than wild ; 
All furious as a I'avor'd child 
Balk'd of its wish ; or fiercer still^ 
A woman piqueil — who has her will. 



" The wood was pass'd ; 'twas more than noon. 

But chill the air, although in June ; 

Or it mill-lit be ni_y veins ran cold — 

Proloug'd endurance tames the bold ; 

And I was then not what I seem, 

But headlong as a wintry stream, 

And wore my feelings out before 

I well could count their causes o'er : 

And what with fury, fear, and wrath, 

The tortures whicli beset mj- path. 

Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress, 

Thus bound in nature's nakedness ; 

Sprung from a race whose rising blood, 

AVhen stirr'd beyond its calmer_mood, 

And trodden hard upon, is like 

The rattlesnake's, in act to sti-ike, 

What marvel if this v/orn-out trunk 

Beneath its v/oes a moment sunk ? 

The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round, 

I secni'd to sink upon the ground; 

But err'd, for I was lastly bound. 

My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore, 

And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more ; 

The skies spun like a mighty wheel ; 

I saw the trees like drunkards reel. 

And a slight Hash sprang o'er my eyes, 

Which saw no further : he who dies 

Can die no more than then I died. 

O'ertortin-cd l)y that ghastly ride, 

I felt the blackness come and go. 

And strove to wake ; but could not make 
My senses climb up from below : 
I ielt as on a plank at sea. 
When all the waves that dash o'er thee 
At the same time upheave and whelm, 
And hurl thee towards a desert realm. 
My undulating life was as 
The ftincied lights that flitting pass 
Our shut eyes in deep midnight, when 
Fever begins upon the brain ; 
But soon it pass'd, with little pain. 
But a confusion worse than such : 
I own that 1 should deem it much. 
Dying, to feel the same again; 
And yet I do suppose we must 
Feel far more ere we tiu-n to dust : 
No matter ; I have bared my brow 
Full in Death's face — before — and now. 



MAZEPPA. 303 



" My tliourrlits came back ; v.-liorc ^vas I ? Cold, 
And nil ml), and {i:idd_v : pulse by pulse 

Life rcassuuicd its lin^-criiiLf bold, 

And tbrol) l)y tbrob ; till grown a Jiang 
Wbich for a n)oment could convulse, 
My blood rcliow'd, tbougli tbiek and chill; 

My car with uucoutb noises rang, 
My bcart began once more to tbrill; 

My sight rcturn'd, though dim, alas ! 

And thiekeu'd, as it were with glass. 

Mctbougbt the dash of waves was nigh ; 

There was a gleam, too, of the sky 

Studded with stars ; — it is no dream ; 

The wild horse swims the wilder stream, 

The bright, i>road river's gushing tide 

Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide, 

And we arc ball-way. struggling o'er 

To yon unknown and silent shore. 

The waters broke my hollow trance, 

And ^vith a temporary strength 
My stitlen'd limbs were reliaptized. 

M}' courser's broad l)rea^t proudly braves. 

And dashes off the ascending waves, 

And onward we advance ! 

We reach the slippery sliore at length, 
A haven I but little prized. 

For all l)ehind was dark and drear, 

And all before was night and fear. 

How many hours of night or day 

In those suspended pangs I lay, 

I could not tell ; I scarcely knew 

If this were human breath I drew. 



" With glossy skin, and dripping mane. 
And reeling limbs, and reeking Hank, 

The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain 
Up the repelling bank. 

We gain the top ; a boundless plain 

Spreads through the shadow of the night, 
And onward, onwaril, onward seems 
I^ike precipices in Our dreams. 

To stretch beyond the sight; 

And here and tlierc a specie of white, 
Or scatter'il spot of dusky green, 

In masses in-oke into the light. 

As rose the moon upon my right : 
But nouglit distinctly seen 

In the dim waste would indicate 

The oinen of a cottage gate; 

No twinkling taper from alar 

Stood like a hospitable star; 

Not even an ignis-fatuus rose 

To make him merry with my woes : 



304 MAZEPPA. 

TliMt vorv cheat liiul rluxu-'il me thou! 
AKIiouuh iK'torloil, wok'oiiio still! 
Koinimrm.; me, tlirimiiii every ill, 

01" the abodes of nieii. 



" Onwavd wo wont, but sl:ick and slow; 

His siiva.ne Ibree ut length o'erspent, 
The drooiiin:;- courser, I'aint and low, 

Or leelily I'oaniinu" went. 
A siokly inl'ant had had power 
To jiuiile him forward in that horn-; 

l?'iit useless all to me; 
His new-honi tameness nouii'ht avail'd, 
^Iv limlis were hound; my force had fail'd, 

I'ereliauee, had thev been free. 
With feeble effort still I tried 
To rentl the bonds so starkly tied — 

But still it was in vain; 
My limbs were oidy wruny the more, 
And soon the idle strile uave o'er, 

Which but [irolonu'il their pain: 
The di/.zy race secm'd almost ilone, 
Althoujj:!! no lioal was nearly won ; 
Some streaks announced the coming suu— 

] low slow, alas, he came ! 
;MelhoiiL;ht that mist of dawning giuy 
A\ ould never ilapple into day; 
How heavily it roll'd away — 

Before the eastern llanie 
Eose crimson, and tleposed the stare, 
And call'd the radiance from their cai-s, 
And lill'd the earth, from his deep throne, 
■With lonely lustre, all his own. 

xvit. 
" Up rose the sun : the mists were curl'd 
Back from the solitary woi-ld 
Which lay around — behind — before: 
What booted it to traverse o'er 
Plain, forest, river? .Man nor brute, 
Isor dint of boof, nor print of foot, 
l^ay in the wild luxuriant soil; 
No sign of travel — none of toil ; 
The very air was mute; 
And not" an insect's shrill small horn, 
Kor matin bird's new voice, was borne 
From heri> nor thicket. IManv a worst, 
Panting- as if his heart would liurst, 
The weary brute still sia'4-;;er'd on; 
And still we were — or seem'd^alone : 
At lonjith, while reeling on our way, 
^lethought 1 heard a coui'ser neigh, 
From out yon tuft of blackening tirs. 
Is it the wind those branches stirs ? 
No, no ! from out the forest prance 



A h'liiiipliiij,' Irooji; [ si'c (liciii come! 
Ill out' viisl s({iiu(li-()ii llicy lulvaiici;! 

_ I strove to cry — my lips were (liimli. 
TIic stccils rush on in pliin^in;,' ])ri(lc; 
IJiil wlicrc arc llicy tlic reins to "iiidc ? 
A tlioiisiunl liorsc -anil none to riile! 
A\'illi llowin;;- liiil, and llyin^r mane, 
A\iilc noslrils, nevei' sin'leli'il hv pain, 
]Moullis l)l(ioillc>ss to tlie l>it, or n'in, 
And leel, that iron nt'vcr sliod, 
AiKJ Hanks niisca.rrM by s|)iir m- roil, 
A llionsand liorse, the wild, llic IVee, 
Like wa\-es thai follow o'er (he sea, 

( 'amc Ihiekly Ihiindt'riM^r on. 
As if oiir I'aint approach lo meet.; 
1'lu' si^^-'ht r(!-iicrved my eoursei-'s feet, 
A nionKMit sla;^;i-erin^-,"l'eel)ly licet, 
A moment, with a I'aint low "ncigli, 

lie answer'd, and then fell; 
With nasps and ;:lay,in;^' eyes he lav, 
And i-eckin;^- linihs imniovahle. 
His lirsl, and last cai-ecr is domM 
On came Uie lroo|) — (hey saw him stoop, 
They saw iiu; slran^^cfy hoiunl alon^ 
]Iis hack with many a' hloodv thon^: 
They slop— they start— Ijiey sniill' the air, 
(iallop a moment here and "l here. 
Approach, retire, wheel round aud round, 
Then pluu,'^inu' hack wllli sudden hound, 
] leaded by one Mack mi;4h<y steed, 
Who s(!em'd (he patriarch oV liis hreetl, 

M'ithont Ji sin^iic speck or hail- 
Of while upon his sha^-^y hide; 
1'licy snort they loaui uei^h -swerve aside. 
And backward to (he loresl, lly, 
l\y iuslinet, IViiui a human I'y'e. — 

They left nu' there lo my despair, 
Liuk'd to lh(^ dead and sliireiiinj,' wretch, 
Whose lil'eless iiudis h(Miealh me sirelcll, 
Relieved from that unwonted wei;^hl. 
From whence I coidd no( <'\lricaii; 
2v'or him, nor me; and tlK're we lay, 

The dviu;^- on llie dead! 
I little (leem'd another day 

\\ould see my iion.selt'ss, liclpless head. 

" And there from morn till twilii,dit houiul, 
I felt the heavy hours toil round. 
With just enough of life lo see 
IVIy last of suns j^o down on me. 
In hopeless certainly of miuti, 
That makes ns leel lit Icn^^lh resi;^n'il 
To that which our forebodinji' years 
I'rcseut Ihe worst and last of fears: 
Inevitable — even a boon, 
Mm- more unkind for cominL' soon ; 
20 



306 MAZEPPA. 

Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care, 
As if it only were a snare 

That prudence mi^'-ht escape : 
At times l)otii wish'il for and implored, 
At times sou;iht with self-pointed sword. 
Yet still a dark and hideous close 
To even intolerable woes, 

And welcome in no shape. 
And, stran<>e to say, the sons of pleasure. 
They who have rcvull'd beyond racasui'e 
In beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure, 
Die calm, or calmer, oft than ho 
Whose heritau'i; was misery : 
For lie who hath in turn run through 
All that was licautiful and new. 

Hath nought to liope, and nouglit to leave ; 
And, save the future (which is view'd 
Not quite as men are base or good. 
But as their nerves may be endued), 

With nought perhaps to grieve : — 
The wretch still hopes his woes must end, 
And Death, whom lie should dcxim his friend, 
Appears to his distcuiiicr'd eyes. 
Arrived to rob him of liis prize. 
The tree of his new Para<hse. 
To-morrow would have given him all, 
Ilepaiil his pangs, rcpair'd liis fall : 
To-morrow woukl have been the first 
Of days no more deploi-ed or curst. 
But bright, and long, and beckoning years, 
Seen dazzling through the mist of tears, 
Guerdon of many a painful hour; 
To-morrow would have given him power 
To rule, to shine, to smite, to save — 
And must it dawn upon his grave ? 



" Tlie sun was sinking — still I lay 

Ciiain'd to tlic cliill and stitiening steed; 
I thought to mingle tliere our claj-, 

And my dim eyes of death had need, 

No liope arose of being freed : 
I cast my last looks up the sky. 

And tiicre between me and the sua 
I saw the expecting raven dy. 
Who scarce would wait till both should die, 

Ere his repast begun ; 
He flew, and percli'il, then flew once more, 
And each time nearer than before; 
I saw his wing througli twilight flit, 
And once so near mc he alit 

I could have smote, l)ut lack'd the strength;- 
But tlic slight motion of my hand, 
Antl feeble >^oratcliing of the sand, 
The exerted tlu-oat's faint struggling noise, 
Which scarcely could be call'd a voice, 



MAZEPPA. 307 

Tojjctlicr scai-ed him off at Icnjrth. — 
I know no more — my latest dream 

Is somctliinf( of a lovely star 

Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar, 
And went and came >vitii wandcrin;r lioam, 
And of tlie cold, dull, swimming, dense 
Sensation of rcLnirring sense, 
And llien subsidinji' back to death, 
And then ajjain a little breath, 
A little thrill, a short suspense, 
An icy sickness curdlinir o'er 
My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain — 
A gasp, a throb, a start of pain, 
A sigh, and nothing more. 

XIX. 

" I woke — WHierc was T ?— Do I see 
A human face look down on me ? 
And doth a roof above me close ? 
Do these limbs on a couch repose ? 
Is this a chaml)er where I lie ? 
And is it mortal, yon briglit eye. 
That watches nie with gentle glance ? 

I close my own again once more, 
As doubtl'Ml that the former trance 

Could not as yet be o'er. 
A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall, 
Sate watching by the cottage wall; 
The sjiarklc of her eye I caught. 
Even with my first return of thought; 
For ever and anon she threw 

A prying, pitying glance on me 

Witli her black eyes so wild and free; 
I gazed, and gazed, until 1 knew 

No visifni it could be, — 
But that I lived, and was released 
From adding to the vidturc's feast: 
And when tiie Cossack maid l)eheld 
M}' heavy eyes at length unscal'd, 
She smiled — and I cssay'd to speak. 

But fail'd — and she MpproacbM, and made 

With lij) and linger signs that saitl, 
I must not strive as yet to break 
The silence, till my strength should be 
Enough to leave my accents free ; 
And then iicr hand on mine she laid, 
And smootli'd the pillow for my head, 
And stole along on tiptoe tread. 

And gently oped the door, and spake 
In wliispers — ne'er was voice so sweet! 
Even music foUow'd her light feet ; — 

But those she call'd were not awake, 
And she went forth ; but ere she pass'd, 
Another look on me she cast, 

Another sign she made, to say 



308 MAZEPPA. 

That I had nought to fear, that all 
Were near, at ni)' commaad or call, 

And she would not delay 
Her due return : — while she was gone, 
Methought I felt too much alone. 

XX. 

" She came with mother and with sire — 
What need of more ? — I will not tire 
With long recital ot the rest 
Since I became the Cossack's guest. 
They found me senseless on the plain — 

They bore me to the nearest hut — 
They brought mc into life again — 
Me — one day o'er their realm to reign ! 

Thus the vain fool who strove to glut 
His rage, refining on my pain, 

Sent me forth to the wilderness, 
Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone, 
To pass the desert to a throne, — 

What mortal his own doom may guess ?— ' 

Let none despond, let none despair ! 
To-morrow the Borysthenes 
May see our coursers graze at ease 
Upon his Turkish bank — and never 
Had I such welcome for a river 

As I shall yield when safely there. 
Comrades, good night ! " — The Hetman threw 

His length beneath the oak-tree shade, 

With leafy couch already made, 
A bed nor comfortless nor new 
To him, who took his rest whene'er 
The hour arrived, no matter where : 

His eyes the hastening slumbers steep. 
And if ye marvel Charles forgot 
To thank his tale, he wonder'd not — 

The king had been an hour asleep. 



THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 

18S1. 

" 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mj'stical lore, 
And coming events cast tlieir shadows before." 

Campbell. 



DEDICATION. 

Lady! if for the cold and cloudy clime, 

Where I was Iwi-n, but whevc I woidd not die, 

Of the fjreat Poet-Sire of Italy 
I dare to build the imitative rhyme, 
Harsh Runic copy of the South's sublime, 

Thou art the cause ; and howsoever I 

Fall .short of his inimoi-tal harmony, 
Til}' gentle heart will pardon me the crime. 
Thou, in the pride of Beauty and of Youth, 

Spakest ; and for thee to speak and be obey'd 
Are one ; but only in the sunny South 

Such sounds are ntter'd, and such cliarms display'd, 
So sweet a language from so fair a mouth — 

Ah ! to what effort would it not persuade ? 
Bavenna, June 21, 1819. 



PREFACE. 

In the course of a visit to the city of Ravenna in the summer of 1S19, it was 
suggested to the author that, having composed something on the subject of Tasso's 
confinement, he should do tlie same on Dante's exile, — the tomb of the poet 
forming one of the principal objects of interest in that citj-, both to the native 
and to the stranger. 

" On this hint I spake," and the result has been the following four cantos, in 
terza rima, now offered to the reader. If they arc understood and approved, it 
is my purpose to continue the poem, in various other cantos, to its natural con- 
clusion in the present age. The reader is requested to suppose that Dante ad- 
dresses him in the interval between the conclusion of the Divina Commedia and 
his death, and shortly before the latter event, foretelling the fortunes of Italy in 
general in the ensuing centuries. In adopting this plan I have had in my mind 
the Cassandra of Lycopliron, and the Prophecy of Xcreus by Horace, as weU 

309 



310 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 

as the rrnpliocios of Holy Writ. Tlip nieasure niloptod is tlio torza rinia of 
Paiite, wliicli I am not .nvaro to Imve scimi liitlicrto trioil in our lan>;uage, 
cxcopt it may be l)y Jlr. llaylcy, of wlioso translation I never saw but one ex- 
tract, quoted in tlie notes to Calipb Vatliok; so tlnit — if I do not err— tliis poem 
may be considered as a metrical experiment. The cantos arc short, and about 
the same length of those of the poet, whoso name I have borrowed, and most 
probably taken in vain. 

Amongst the inconveniences of authors in the present day, it is dilfleult for 
any who have a name, good or bad, to escape translation. I liavo had tlie for- 
tune to see the fourth canto of " Childe Harold " translated into Italian versi 
sciolti,— that is, a poem written In the flpenserean .ttama Into blank verse, with- 
out regard to the natural divisions of the stanza or of the sense. If the present 
poem, l)eing on a national topic, .should chance to midergo the same fate, I 
would request tlie Italian reader to remember that when I have failed in the 
imitation of his great " Padre Alighier," I have failed in imitatiiig that whieli all 
study and few understand, since to this very day it is not yet settled what was 
the meaning of the allegory in the first canto of the Inferno, miless Count 
Marchotti's ingenious and probable conjecture may be considered as having de- 
cided the question. 

He may also pardon my failure the more, as I am not quite siu'c that he would 
be pleased with my success, since the Italians, with a pardonable nationality, 
are particularly jealous of all that Is left them as a nation— their literature; and 
in the present bitterness of the classic and romantic war, are but ill disposed to 
permit a foreigner evei\ to approve or imitate tlieni, witliout finding some fault 
with his ultramontane presum|ilion. I can easily enter into all this, knowing 
what wotild be thonglit in ICngland of an Italian imitator of lMilton,or if a 
translation of Jlonti. or I'Indemonto, (u* Arici, should be held up to the rising 
generation as a model f<«' their fiiture poetical essays. Uwt I perceive that I am 
deviating Into an address to the Italian reader, when my business is with the 
English one ; and bo they few, or many, I must take my leave of both. 



THE PROPIIRCY OF DANTE. 



CANTO THE FIRST. 

ONf'r more in innii's f'l-Mil world ! wliidi I had left 

So Ion;;' lliiU 't\v;is lorjiottiMi; iiiid L IVu'l 

The \v;'i:^lil ol'diiv !ii,'-;iin, — loo soon Inn'cft 
Ol'tlic iimiiortiil vision wliicli coiiM lioiil 

My o;irllily soitowh. iiml to (iocl's own skicH 

Lii't nic from lliiil dcci) t,''idl' without rciiciil, 
WinMC hilc my ciifs rnni:' willi tlic diiMiiifd erics 

or souls in lio|)cli'ss ball'; smd IVoni lliiil i>liico 

()!' lesser toi'nient, wlieiiee men uiMy ariso 
I'ure from Die (ire lo join tlie anjielie iiico; 

'Midst wiiom my own brif^lit lieatrie/- * Wcss'd 

l\h' s)iiril. with lief lii;lil ; and to tin; hii.so 
Ofli'ie eternal Triad! lirst, lasl, liest, 

IMyslei'ious, three, sole, iiilinitc, t:roa,t (loil! 

Soul universal! led the mortal jiiiest, 
Unhlasted by (lie ;ilory, tlion;;li lie Irod 

Frfiiii star to star lo riNieli the almij^hty tlu'OllO. 

Oh IJealriee I whose; swi^et limbs the sod 
So lon^-- lialh i>ri;ss'd, and the cold inarhlu .stone, 

Thoii sole pure seraph of my eiirlio.st love, 

liOVe >o inell'alile, anil so alone, 
That iiou;.;ht on earth (tonld more my bosom move, 

And meelin;^' thee in heaven was hut to meet 

That without which my sonl, like? the iirklcss dove, 
Had wandei'M still in search of, nor her feet 

Hi'lieved her win^' till found ; wilhonl thy V\<^ht 

My paradise hail still be(;n ineompUrln.f 
Since my leiilh son ;;av(; snmmer to my si;,'-|it 

Thon wert my life, the essence of my lh(Mi^lit, 

Loved cru 1 knew the name of love, and brij;'ht 

• The render la reqiicsli-il to :ulni)t ttio Itallim pmiiunclutlou of licutrica 
iBcatrlc/ic] soiiikIImk nil Ihr .-vllalilfs. 

t •• C'lii' sol |.cr Ic hcUc opro 

('111' nilllln ill Cleli. II M.ll; I'. V altro stollo 
Di'iitro ill liil, ,iii' rrede it I'araiiiao, 
Cosl scKimrill 11m. 

I'riiMiir l)rn ili^l cir (iKiil forren " piaoerp. 
Canzone, in wliicli Uuntu describes iliu pcrsuii of Bciitrlce, Stmplio third. 

311 



312 /'"/' /•/.•()/•///.(•» ()/• i>i\i'i:. 

,S|ill ill llii'sr ilini oM i-yc-i, now i>\ crw r(>ii;;lit 

Willi llir wiulirs \\:\\\ niul vi-iuw, tiiiil imiiisliiiii'Ml, 
Ami Iciiis for llii-c, l>v ollu'V wkcs uiiIiuihIiI ; 

l'\>r luiiif is luil IV niilin'o to Uv lu'iil 

|l_V l_vr.'Uiin>ii-i rniMioii, nixl llic Iniivvliiii; iTowtl, 
.Vliii'llioii'^li llu- loim, loii^ loiiltiil Imlli ln'cn spont. 

In Miiii, luitl iifMT nitirt', Mivo wlini (lie cluuil 
Wliicli lUcrliiinKs lli«' A|n'iiiiiiu', my miiul'M »>_vo 
I'ion-iw 111 fiiiuT I'MiinMU'i', oiu-o so |iniml 

Of nu\ riui I ri'li'ii'ii, llioiii;li ImiI to ilif, 
I'ndi iii\ iiiilivt' soil, tlu'V Imvc not vol 
l^»iu'iu'lnl llic old o\ili''s'Hiiii'il. storii iiiiil lii(;li. 

llUl lilO Mill, lhollj.;il not OMMTllsl, lllllsl sol. 

Ami till" iii.ulil ooniolli; 1 iiiii oM in diiv.i. 

Anil ilooiN, iin>l oonloni|>liilion, and liu\o niol. 
l)oslrnolioii I'lioo lo t'lioo in nil liis wiivs. 

Tlio world Imlli lol\ mo, wliiil il I'oiind ino, i>m<>, 

And if I liitvo nol j^iillior'd vol il.-i |>nnso, 
1 som;lil il nol liv iinv I'lisor Ini'o; 

Mini wroiii^x, mid 'I'iiiio ii\i-n<;fs, nnd my niinii> 

Miiy fonn ii iiioiuiinoni nol all olisonn<, 
'riioiif;li siioli was not my aiidiilion's-rntl or aim, 

To add lo ilio Miin^jiorioiis lisi ol'llioso 

W'lio ilalililo in llio in'Minoss of I'anio, 
And nuiKo mon's (loklo liroalli tlio wind llial Mows 

Tlioir sail, and doom it <;loi\ lo ho olass'd 

\\ illi ooin|noioi's, and virtuo's ollior I'oos, 
In I'iooily oluoniolos of auos |ia.s|, 

I wmild liino liad my l'loroiuH> f^i'i^at and iVoo;* 

Oil I'loronoo! I'Moro'iioo ! nnio ini» llion wasi 
Liko llial .loriisaloni wliioli tin- Alniij^lily Wi' 

Wool o\or, •• lail llioii wonldsl nol ; '" as ilio liiiil 

IJalliors Its yonii!^, I would liavo i^allior'd llioo 
]U<iu<ulli a |iaroiit pinion, liadsl ilioii lioard 

My voioo; l>iil as (lio addof. doaf and llon't", 

Apiinst Ilio Inoiisl Unit oliorisli'd ilioo was slin'M 
'riiv vononi, and ni\ slato llion didst amoioo, 

Ami iloom tills li.'idy t'oit'oit to Ilio llrt>. 

Alas! Iiow liillor IS Ids ooiiiitry 's oni's(> 
To liini wlio /i>/' llial <'onntry would o\|>iro, 

Itiil did mil moril lo oNpiio />// lior, 

And lo\os lii-c, lovos lior ovoii in lior iiv! 
Tlio day may ooiiu' wlion slio will ooiiso li» on', 

Tlio I'lay niay oonio slio would lio pidud to liavo 

Tlu' dust slio dooms to soallor, and tiaiisl'or 
or liim, w lioni slio doiiiod a liomo, llio );ia\o. 

lint tills sliall not l>o ^laiitod; lot my dust 

1. 11^ wlioro il Calls; nor sliall tlio soil wliioli j;'uvo 
JVlo liroatli, I'lil ill lior smldoii I'liry tliriist 

Alo i'ortli to lii'oadu- olsowlioro, so roasviimo 

• " l.'ICmlin clu' 111' A iliilii oiini' 111! toiiiio. 
Cnilor Irii' Imiiiil <\ |iiii' ill loilo ili>mu>." 

III whlrli lio it«i>i-c!«iMi|H Kliilil, (IimioiiihH.v, hiuI 'I'oiiiiirraiu'i' t\« lmiil»lio<l (\v'i\ 
«iui>iiti uioii, mill si'rlkiiii; iH<l\ij!«' tvoiii l.ovi>, who liiliiilills IiIn lni»iim. 



tin: PltoPUECY OF DANTE. 313 

My iiiili;;ii;ml, hones, liccaiise her aii^TV «ii.st 
Forsooth is over, iuid rc|H';tl'<l her doom; 

No,— she denied nie wiiiU was mine— iiiv roof, 
And sii;Ul not, have what is not hcis— m'v loiuh. 
To() Ion;,' lier arm d wratli hatii kej)!, alool" 

Tile hreast whieli would have iiled for her, tlie heai-t 
That, heat, llie mind lliat was tem|)lation-|)ro(jf, 
The man wlio lon^^iit, loil'd, tiaveU'd, anil eacii part 
()1 a true eiti/.en lulliU'd, anil saw 
For jus reward, the (inelph's a.seuiulant art 
Pass his desli'uelion C'veu into a law. 

These thin^is are not made for lor^ot fulness, 
Floron(;e shall he for^^otten (Irst; too raw 
The wound, to() dee)) the wnm^, and the ilistress 
Of siu'li endurance too |)rolon;4'd to make 
My pardon ^^realer, hca- injustiei! less, 
Though late repented; yet— yet for her sake 
J leel some louder yearnin;;s, and for thine, 
My own Heatriee, I would hardly take 
Ven;ieane<> upon the land which once was mine, 
And still is hallow'd hy thy dust's return, 
Which would protect the murderi^ss like a shrine. 
And s:ive ten thousand foes hy ihy sole urn. 

'i'hoii-h, like olil Marius fr'om Klinturna-'s marsh 
And Carth.i;^!! ruins, my lojie hreast may hurn 
At times with evil feelin^ls hot and harsh,' 
And sometimes the last paii^^s of a vile'foo 
Writhe in a dream hclore me, and o'erareli 
My hnjw with hopes of trimnph, — let thuni uo ! 
Much ai'e the last inlinniti('s of those 
Who lim;^- have sutler'd more than mortal ^voc, 
And yet heiii;; mortal still have no repose 
JJiit on the pillow of Ui^ven^i'e— Itoven;;o, 
Who sleeps to dream of hlood, and wakii'i"- ulowy 
With the oft-I.aHled slakeless thirst of chan-c. 
When we sh.'ill mount a^zaiu, and they that trod 
]5c trampled on, while Death and Ate ran^^e 
O'er hnmhled heads and sever'd necks — — Great God! 
'I'ake these tlioii-hls from me— to thy hamls I yield 
My many wron;;s, and thine almi^ihiy rod 
Will fall on those who smote me,— he my shield! 
As thou hast heen in peril, and in jiain, 
111 turhidciit cities, and the tented (ield — 
In toil, and many trouhles home in vain 
For Florence.— 1 iippeal froin her to Thee ! 
'I'liee whom 1 late saw in thy loftiest rcij,ni. 
Even in that /glorious vision, wlii(;li to see 
And live was never ^^ranted until now, 
And yet thou lia,st permitted this to 1110. 
Alas! with what a wei;;ht upon my hrow 

The sense of earth and earthly ihin^is come back, 
Corrosive passions, feelin^^s dull and low, 
The heart's (piiek thiol) upon the mental rack, 
Jvoii;.'- day, and dreary iii^^ht; the retrosiwet 
Of half a ccntuiy bloody ami black. 



314 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 

And the frail few years T may yet expect 

Hoary and hopeless, but loss hard to bear, 

For I have been too long and deeply wreck'd 
On the lone rock of desolate Despair, 

To lift my eyes more to the passing sail 

Which shuns that reef so horrible and bare ; 
Nor raise my voice — for \vho woukl heed my wail ? 

I am not of this people, nor this age, 

And yet my harpings will unfold a tale 
Which shall preserve these times wlicn not a page 

Of their perturbed annals could attract 

An eye to gaze upon their civil rage, 
Did not my verse embalm full many an act 

Worthless as they avIio wrought it : 'tis the doom 

Of spirits of my order to be raelc'd 
In life, to wear their hearts out, aotl consume 

Their days in endless strife, and die alone ; 

Then future thousands crowd around their tomb, 
And pilgrims come from climes where they have known 

The name of him — wlio now is but a name. 

And wasting homage o'er the sullen stone. 
Spread his — by him unheard, iinheedei — fame; 

And mine at least hath cost me dear : to die 

Is nothing; but to wither thus — to tame 
My mind down from its own infinity — ■ 

To live in narrow ways with little men, 

A common sight to every common eye, 
A wanderer, while even wolves can find a den, 

Eipp'd from all kituh-ed, from all home, all things 

That make communion sweet, and soften pain — 
To feel mc in the solitude of kings 

Without the power that makes them bear a crown — 

To envy every dove his nest and wings 
Which waft him where the Apenninc looks down 

On Arno, till he perches, it may be, 

Within my all inexorable town, 
Where yet my boys are, and that i'atal she,* 

Their mother, the cold p;n-tner who hath brought 

Destruction for a dowrj- — this to see 

* This lady, whose name was Gemma^ spriiiiK fnim ono of the most powerful 
Guelph families iiumeil Doiiati. Corso Doiiati was tlic principal adversary jf 
the GhihelliiK's. She Is described as being '■^Adinodum iiiorosa, tit de Xantippe 
Socratis philosophi conjuge scriptum esse leyiiiius," according to Giaiiiiozzo 
Manctti. Hut Lionardo Aretino is scaudaliiied with Hoccace, in his Life of 
Dante, tor saving that literary men should not marry. " Qui il Boccaccio non ha 
pazienza. e dice, le mogli esser contrarie agli studj : e non si ricorda che Socrate 
il piu nol)Jle lilosot'oeho niai fosse, ebbe moglie c Hgliuoli e uffici della Kepnbblica 
iKlla sua Cittd ; e Aristotelc che, Ac, ifcc, obbc due mogli in varj tempi, ed ebbe 
flitliuoli, e ricchezze assai. — E Marco Ttillio— e Catoiu' — e V'arronc — e Seneca— 
elibcro moglie," itc, itc. It is odd tliat lionest Lionardo's examples, with the ex- 
ception of Seneca, and, foranytliing I Ivuow, Aristotle, are not the most felicitous. 
TiUly's Terentia, and Socrates' Xantippe, by no means contributed to their hus- 
bands' happiness, whatever they might do to their philosophy ; Cato gave away his 
wife; of Varro's we know nothing; and of Seneca's, only that she was disposed 
to die with him, hut recovered aiul lived several years" afterwards. But says 
Lionardo, '• L'uomo e anitnale civile, secondo place a tutti i filosofi." And thence 
concludes tliat the greatest proof of the animal's civism is "la prima congiun- 
zione, dalla quale multipficata nasce la Citti." 



THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 315 

And feel, and know without repair, hath taught 

A bitter lesson ; but it leaves me free : 

I have not vilely found, nor basely sought, 
They made an Exile — not a slave of me. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 
The Spirit of the fervent days of Old, 

When words weie things that came to pass, aocl thought 
Flash'd o'er the future, bidding men behold 
Their children's childi-en's doom already brought 

Fortli from the abyss of time which is to be, 

The chaos of events, where lie lialf-wrought 
Shapes that must undergo mortality'; 

What the great Seers of Israel wore within, 

That spirit was on them, and is on me ; 
And if, Cassandra-like, amidst the din 

Of conflict none will hear, or hearing heed 

This voice from out the Wilderness, "the sin 
Be theirs, and my own feelings be my meed, 

The only guerdon I have over known. 

Hast thou not l)led ? and hast thou still to bleed, 
Italia ? Ah ! to me such things, foreshown 

Witli dim scpaJclu-al light, bid mc forget 

In thine irreparable wrongs my own; 
We can have but one country, and even yet 

Thou'rt mine— my bones shall be within thy breast, 

Wy soul witliin thy language, which once set 
With our old Roman sway in the wide West; 

But I will make another tongue arise 

As lofty and more sweet, in which express'd 
The hero's ardor, or the lover's sighs, 

Shall find alike such sounds for every theme. 

That every word, as brilliant as thy "skies. 
Shall realize a poet's proudest dream, 

And make tlicc Europe's nightingale of song; 

So that all present speech to thine shall seem 
The note of meaner birds, and every tongue 

Confess its barl)arism wlien compared with thine. 

This shalt thou owe to him thou didst so wrong, 
Thy Tuscan bard, the banish'd (;hii)elline. 

Woe! woe! the veil of coming centuries 

Is rent, — a thousand years which yet supine 
Lie like the ocean waves ere winds arise, 

Heaving in dark and sullen undulation. 

Float from eternity into these eyes ; 
The storms yet sleep, the clouds still keep their station. 

The unljorn earthquake yet is in the womb, 

The bloody chaos yet expects creation, 
But all things are ilisposing for tliy doom ; 

The elements await but for the word, 

" Let there be darkness ! " and thou grow'st a tomb! 
Yes ! thou, so beautiful, shalt feel the sword. 

Thou, Italy ! so fair that Paradise, 

Revived in thee, blooms forth to man restored : 



316 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 

All ! must the sons of Adam lose it twice ? 

Thou, Italy! whose cvcr-g^olilen fields, 

Ploii<rh'd by the sunbeams solelv, wotdd suffice 
For the world's frranarv ; thou, whose sky heaven gilds 

With hi-i^hter stars, and rol)es witli deeper blue; 

Thou, in whose jilcasant (ilaces .Summer builds 
Her j)alace, in whose eraiUe Eniiiire j;rew, 

And Jbrm'd the Eternal City's ornaments 

From spoils of king's whom freemen overthrew: 
Birthplace of heroes, sanctuary of saints, 

Where earthly first, then heavenly glory made 

Ilcr home; thou, all which fondest fancy paints, 
And finds her prior vision but i)ortniy'd 

In feeble colors, when the eye^'rom the Alp 

Of horrid snow, and rock, and shaggy shade 
Of desert-loving pine, whoso emerald scalp 

Nods 10 the storm — dilates and dotes o'er thee, 

And wistfully implores, as 'twere for help 
To see thy sunny fields, my Italy, 

Nearer and neai'cr yet, and clearer still 

The more apjiroacli'd, and dearest were they free. 
Thou — thou must wither to each tyrant^ will : 

The Goth hath been, — the tJcniian, Frank, and HuQ 

Are yet to come, — and on the imjierial hill 
Uuin, already proud of the deeds done 

By the old' barbarians, there awaits the new, 

Tln-oned on tlie I'ahitiue, while lost and won 
Rome at her feet lies bleeding; and the hue 

Of human sacrifice and Koman slaugliter 

Troubles the clotted air, of late so blue, 
And ilce))eus into red the satl'ron water 

Of Ti))er, thick with dead; the helpless priest. 

And still nuirc lu'lpli'ss nor less holy daughter, 
Vow'd to their (lod, have shrieking tied, and ceased 

Their ministry : the niitions take their prey. 

Iberian, Alniain, Lomliai'd, anil the beast 
And bird, wolf, vulture, more iiumaue than they 

Are; these lint gorge the fiesh and laj) tlic gore 

Of tlie dejiarted, and then go their way; 
But tlios(>, the human savages, explore 

All paths of torture, antl insatiate yet. 

With Ugolino hunger prowl for more. 
Nino moons shall rise o'er scenes like this and set;* 

The ehieflcss army of the dead, which late 

Beneath the traitor Prince's banner met, 
Hath left its header's ashes at the gate ; 

Had but the royal lleiicl lived, perchance 

Thou hadst l)een spared, but his involved thy fate. 
Oh ! Rome, the spoiler of the spoil of France, 

From Brennus to the Bourbon, never, never 

Shall foreign standard to thy walls advance 
But Tiber shall become a mournful river. 

Oh ! when the strangers jr.iss tlie Alps and Po, 

Crush them, ye rocks ! floods whelm them, and for ever ! 

* See " Sacco di Honia," gencnilly attributed to Guicciiiidiui. There is auoth^l 
l^rittea by u Jacopo Buonaparte. 



THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 317 

Why sleep the idle avalanches so, 

To topple on the loneh- jjilgrim's head ? 

AVhy ilotli Eridaniis hut overflow 
The peasant's harvest from his turhid hod ? 

Were not each harharoiis horde a nohler prey ? 

Over Camhyses' host the desert spread 
Her sandy ocean, and the sea-waves' sway 

Roll'd over Pharaoh and his thousands, — why, 

Mountains and waters, do ye not as they ? 
And you, ye men ! Romans who dare not die, 

Sons of the conquerors who overthrew 

Those who o'erthrew )iroud Xerxes, where yet lie 
The dead whose tonih Olilivion never knew, 

Are the Alps weaker tlian Tlicrniopylae ? 

Their passes more allurinj; to the view 
Of ail invader ? is It they, or ye. 

That to eaeli host tlie mountuin-^ratc unhar, 

And leave the march in peace, tlie [lassaj^c free ? 
Why, Nature's self detains Ihe victor's car, 

And makes your land impregnahle, if earth 

Could he so; hut alone she will not war, 
Yet aids the warrior worthy of his l)irth 

In a soil where the mothers hrinj^- forth men: 

Not so with those whose souls are little worth; 
For them no fortress can avail, — the den 

(Jf the poor reptile which pi'escrves its sting 

Is more secure than walls of adamant, when 
The hearts of those within arc quivering. 

Are 3'e not brave ? Yes, yet the Ausonian soil 

Hath hearts, and hands, and arms, and hosts to hring" 
&."ainst Oppi'ession; but how vain tlie toil. 

While still Division sows the seeds of woo 

And weakness, till the stranger reaps the spoil. 
Dh ! my own beauteous land! so long laid low, 

So long the grave of thy own children's hopes, 

When there is but required a single blow 
To break the chain, yet — yet the Avenger stops. 

And Doubt and Discord stc)! 'twixt thine and thee, 

And join their strength to that which with thee copes? 
What is there wanting then to set thee i'mc, 

And show thy beauty in its fullest light ? 

To make the Alps impassable; and we, 
Her sons, may do this \vith one deed— Unite. 



C^iNTO THE THIRD. 

From out the mass of never-dying ill, 

The Plague, the Prince, the Stranger, and the Swordj 

Vials of wrath i)ut emptied to refill 
And flow again, I cannot all record 

That crowtls on my prophetic eye : the earth 

And ocean written o'er would not afford 
Space for the annal, yet it shall go forth; 

Yes, all, though not i)y hunuin pen, is graven. 

There where the farthest suns and stars have bii-th. 



318 THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 

Spread like a banner at the gate of heaven, 

The bloody scroll of our millennial wrongs 

Waves, and the echo of our groans is driven 
Athwart the sound of archangelic songs, 

And Italy, the martyr'd nation's gore, 

Will not in vain arise to where belongs 
Omnipotence and mercy evermore ; 

Like to a harp-string stricken by the wind, 

The sound of her lament shall, rising o'er 
The seraph voices, touch the Almight}" Mind. 

Meantime I, humblest of thy sons, "and of 

Earth's dust by immoi-tality refined 
To sense and suffering, though the vain may scoff, 

And tyrants threat, and meeker victims liow 

Before the storm because its breath is rough. 
To thee, my country ! whom beibre, as now, 

I loved and love, devote the mournful lyre 

And melancholy gift high powers allow 
To read the future; and if now my lire 

Is not as once it shone o'er Ihce, Ibrgive! 

I but foretell thy fortunes — then expire; 
Think not that I would look on thenvtMid live. 

A spirit forces me to see and speak. 

And for my guerdon grants not to survive ; 
My heart shall be pour'd over thee and break : 

let foi' a moment, ere I must resume 

Thy sable web of sorrow, let nic take 
Over the gleams that llash athwart thy gloom 

A softer glimpse ; some stars shine "tlirough thy nightj 

And many meteors, and above thy torn!) 
Leans sculptured Beauty, which Death cannot blight ; 

And from thine ashes boundless spirits rise 

To give thee honor and the earth delight ; 
Thy soil shall still be pregnant with the wise, 

The gay, the learn'd, the generous, and the brave. 

Native to thee as summer to thy skies. 
Conquerors on foreign shores, and tlie far wave,* 

Discoverers of new worlds, which take their name ; f 

For tJiee alone they have no arm to save, 
And all thy recompense is in their fume, 

A noble one to them, but not to tiiee — 

Shall they ))c glorious, and thou still the same ? 
Oh ! more than these illustrious far shall be 

The being — and even yet ho may be born — 

The mortal savior who shall set thee free. 
And see thy diadem, so changed and M'orn 

By fresh barbarians, on thy brow replaced; 

And the sweet sun replenishing thy morn, 
Thy moral morn, too long with clouds ilefaced. 

And noxious vapors from Avernus risen. 

Such as all they must breathe who are debased 
By servitude, and have the mind in prison. 
'Yet through this centuried eclipse of woe 

* Alpxander of Parma, Spinnla, Pescani, En.spne of Savoy, Monfecucco. 
t Columbus, Americus Vespuciiis, Sebastian Cabot. 



THE PROPHECY OF DANTE. 319 

Some voices shall be heard, and earth shall listen ; 
Poets shall follow in the path I show, 

And make it broader : the same brilliant sky 

Which cheers the birds to son>j shall bid them glow, 
And raise their notes as natural and \\\<s,\\ ; 

Tuneful shall be their numliers ; they shall sing 

Many of love, and some of liberty, 
But few shall soar upon that eagle's wing. 

And look in the sun's face with eagle's gaze, 

All free and fearless as the fcather'd king, 
■ But Hy more near the earth ; how many a phrase 

Sul)liine shall lavisli'd be on some small prince 

In all the prodiuality of praise! 
And language, eloquently lalse, evince 

The harlotry of genius, which, like beauty, 

Too oft forgets its own self-reverence, 
And looks on prostitution as a duty. 

He who once enters in a tyrant's hall* 

As guest is slave, his thoughts become a booty, 
And the first day which sees the cliains enthrall 

A captive, sees his half of manhood gone — f 

The soul's emasculation saddens all 
His spirit ; thus the Bard too near the throne 

Quails from his inspiration, bound to -please, — 

How servile is the task to please alone ! 
To smooth the verse to suit his sovereign's ease 

And royal leisui-e, nor too much prolong 

Aught save his eulogy, and find, and seize, 
Or force, or forge fit argument of song ! 

Thus trammcU'd, thus condemn'd to Flattery's trebles, 

He toils through all, still trembling to !)e wrong: 
For fear some noble thoughts, like heavenly rebels, 

Should rise up in high treason to his brain. 

He sings as the Athenian spoke, with pcbliles 
In 's mouth, lest truth should stammer through his strain. 

But out of the long file of sonneteers 

There shall be some who will not sing in vain, 
And he, their prince, shall rank among my peers, J 

And love shall be his tonnent; but his grief 

Shall make an immortality of tears, 
And Italy shall hail him as the Chief 

Of Poet-lovers, and his higher song 

Of Freedom wreathe him with as green a leaf. 
But in a farther age shall rise along 

The banks of Po two greater still than he ; 

The world which smileil on him shall do them wrong 
Till they are ashes, and repose with me. 

The first will make an epoch of his lyre. 

And fill the earth with feats of chivalry : 
His fancy like a rainliow, and his fire. 

Like that of Heaven, immortal, and his thought 

Borne onward with a wing that cannot tire ; 

■* A verse from the Greek trngedians, with which Pompey took leave o, 
Cornelia on entering the ijoat in which lie was slain, 
t The verse and sentiment are taken from Homer. 
X I'etrarch. 



320 'i'tii: I'lioPiiECY OF daxtf:. 

rioasiirc shiill, like n huttoi-lly now canjilit, 
FliittiT lu'i- lovt'ly inuious o'er liis tlu'iiu-. 
Ami Art ilsi'lf sooiu into Niitiiro wrouulit 

By tlio tr!iiis))iiroiu'y of liis hriylit ilreani. — 
Till' socoud, of ji'tiMuloivr, fiuddor mood, 
Shall inmr his soul out o'or .K'nisalcni ; 

lie, too. shall siim' ol" arms, and (."hristian hlood 

Shod wluMH' Christ hied for man; and his hi;;h liai'p 
Shall, hy tho willow over .Ionian's flood, 

Ki'vivo a soni;' of Siou, and tho sharp 
C'onlliot, and final triumph of tho hravc 
And pious, and tho strife of lioll to warp 

Their hearts from their yroat purpose, inilil wave 
'I'he i-ed-eross haiiners wluTO tho llrsi rod Cross 
M'as eriiiison'd from his veins who died to savo, 

Shall he his sacred ar<;'uinont ; tho loss 
Of yoai's, of favor, freedom, even of fame 
("iMitestod for a time, while the smooth l;1oss 

Of eoiirts would slide o'er his t'ori^otton name, 
And call eapti\ ity a kiiiilnoss, meant 
To shield him from insanity or sliaiue : 

Such shall ho his meet u'lierdoii ! who waa sent 
To he Ciiri .t's Laureate — they reward him well! 
Florenoo dooms mo hut death or banishiiieiit, 

Forrara him a ))ittanee and a cell, 

llariler to hear, and less deserved, for T 

Had suiiil:- the faotions wliieh 1 strove to (pioll; 

But this meek man, who with a Utvor's eye 

M'ill look on earth and lieaven, uiul wlio will deijjca 
To emhalin with his eelostial llattery, 

As jioor a thin;:' as e'er was spawn'd to reign, 
\\hai will /ic do to merit siioh a doom ? 
Boi'haps he'll /ore, — and is not love iu vain 

Torture eiiongh without a living' tomh ? 
Yet it will lie so he and his eompeor. 
The liard of Chivalry, will both consume 

In penury and pain too many a year, 
And, tlying in despondonoy, hetineath 
To the'kiiid world, whioh "searee will yield a tear, 

A heritage euriehing all who breathe 

^^'ith the wealth of a gouuiue poet's soul. 
And to their eoiintry a redoubled wreath, 

I'nuiati'h'd by time; not Hellas can unroll 

Through her olvmpiads two sueh names, though OIK- 
Of hers he mighty, — and is this the whole 

Of such men's destiny beneath tho sun ? 

JSIiist all the liner tlioimhts, tho thrilling sense. 
The oleetrio blood with whieli their arleries run. 

Their body's self turn'd soul with the intense 
Feelini:"of that whii'li is, and faiiey of 
That whioh should be, to snoh a recompense 

Condiiot : shall their bright plumage on the rough 
Storm be siill soaiter'd ? Yes, and it must be, 
Vov, I'orm'd ol" far too penetrable stutf. 

Those birds of Taradise out long to tleo 

Back to Ihcir native mausion.'soou thcv fiud 



THE riKtI'llECV OF DW'TK. 

Kiii-IJi'm iiiisi, wilh llicii- piirc iiiriioiiM iiol, iiirroc. 
Al)(l (he or ni-(^ (lc^r|.||,|,.,| . lor (!,,• iriiiid 
Siic.'iiiiiliM lo loiiH- iiil'cclion, mill (Ic^niiir, 
Ari.l viilliiri' piiMMioiiH (IviiiM- closr^ IkJiiikI 
Awiiil the iMiiMiciil. lo iiswiiil iiiiij li'iir; ' 

And wlicii 111, JcM^rlli llic winjrcd wi'mdrnTH nloop. 
Ihcn iH III,. |Mvy-l)ir,|'M lniiiri|,li, Ihrii llicy slinrl, 
Iho spoil, ocrpowrrM it|. |,.n(^||i hy on,. r,l|"sw,.op 
^(•t H,)iii(! inn,. !,(.,. I, iii,|,„|,.|,M, wliolniinM lo l„.;ir 
Nom,' wli,,iii no powiT ,.,.iild .■v,t lonv lo droop 
Wliocoiil.i ivsisl lh..mM,.|v,.M,-vcii, liunl,.sl, cii,.! ' 
Am, IihI< imosI liopidcss; l.iil. moiik! hiii'Ii |,„,v,; i.,.,.,,. 
A 11,1 il my naiii,. iiin,.iif,^sl, llii! iiiiiiiIku- wcn^ 
Jliiil ,|i'.sliiiy iiiiMl,'rc, 1111,1 v<'l X'Ti^iic 

WCIV pr,)ll,l,T tJlMIl IIIOIV <lll//,liM;r (a,,,,, unbloHH'd. 

I lie Alp M snow Hiiiimiil, iiciin'r li,'iivcn is mcmmi 

i liiiii IIk! voI<'iim,)'m ficr,.,' crnplivi. cim'sI 

Whos,. spl,.|i,|or rroni lli,' l,|,i,|( n\>s^-lu lliui-r 

\\ lid,. Ill,: .H,.or,.|,;,| n.oiiniiiin, iVon'i who.,, hmnin^ l,r,.,tst 

A lcnip,)r,iiy Un-Wwiuu: Hitiiii, is \vniii«', 
ShiiH's lorn ni^rjii, „r |,.rr,)r, then n.pcjs 
Its lir,. \y,rk u. 111- |„.1| (V,.ni wlu.n,... it Hm-un.r 

ilic licli whi,;h Ml iu ,iilniils{;v(;r dwells. 

<'A,\'ro 'iiii; I'oriri'ii, 

JMiiiiy lire p,iel,s wlio liiiv,. m^ver pciiiiM 
'I'heir inH|)iriUi,)n, iind p,T,.|iii,ii,.,. I he |,e^| ■ 
'I'liey Cell, iukI I,)v..,I, an, I ,li,Ml, hm won), I not |eii,| 
J heir Ihoiijrhis |„ iiieiMier hein^rs; ih,.v ,'oi.ipn,.HsM 
I lie ;^-,»l wilhiii Iheiii, iiiid ivjoinM llie hIiii-h 
IJnliiiiivird upon i.iirlh, hm, Ihr more hleHH',1 
riiim MioMci who lire d(.;rnide,l hy llie jiirH 

<'<■ I'liHHid .11,1 ih,.ir rriiilli(!M'liiil<','| lo Cumo 

CMKiiiei-ors of hinl, ri'iiown, hiil, liill of neiirM. 
M.'uiy lire po,.|M liiil willi,)iil, Ih,. mu,,,., 
l'"or wliiit, \-i piM'sy hill, lo eri'iil,; 
l'"rom ovi'il',', liii/r jrooil ,,r ill; ,|,|,,| nim 
At !i.ii evli'iiiiil lile hey, ,11, 1 our ('ale, 
And Ik; the new rri'imellieiis of new men, 
I!,.Mlowintr (ir(! Irom li(,(iv(iii, iui,l lli,.|i, ioI, la(,c, 
J<in,liii;r till! r>l''(i^Nr(! jL'iveii repui,l wilh puin 
Ami viilliires to Ih,- |i,.!irt ,.l Ih,. lu'sUiwer 
Who, hiiviii-- l!ivi.iiril hiM hiu^h -^il'l in vain', 
Lies ehaiiiM |„ Imm lone roei< hy the Mea-Mhor(! ? 
S,. l„. il : we can hear.- MnlJlms ail Ihey 
\Vh,)H(r inlelleel is an o'cMTiiaslerinjr power 

W huh Ml ill recoils from ils en,' lierin.- ehiy 

Or li;,rh|eiis ill,, spiril, wlialsoe',.r 
'I'lie I'orm which lli,'ir ,.r,.iilioiiM may ,.Hsny 
Arc Imnls; Ihe kiii,||,.,| miiihle'M I. list,' may w'ottr 
More poesy iip,>n ils sp,.iilwn;,r |,row 
I hail aii',nil, l,.ss llian Ih,. Homeric patfc may boar: 
One nohle siniki! witli a wliolc liC; may ulow 
Or ,l,.i|y the canvas till it shine ' 

Willi l>,.M,iily HI) snipassln;r ,{[\ |„;|„w. 



.'52 ( 



322 'I'll'- I'lioi'iir.cY OF daxti-:. 

TliMl tlu'V who kiu-cl to idols so iliviiu' 

Uri-iik no I'omiiiimiliiuMil, Cur hiu'li lu'uvi'u is there 

'I'l-Miisfiisi'ii, triinsHL;ur:ili'il : ami llu' lino 
Of lioi-sy, wliicli (H'onU's lull llu- nil- 

Willi lliimjilil iiiul lH'ii\L;'s of our tlioiiiiht rellectcil,' 

(•an do no inoro ; tliiMi let tin- iii'tist sliarc 
Till" jmlm, \w shiires tin" in-i'il, mid (K-ji'i'toil 

l''iuiits o'or llu' lidior imaiiiirovcd — Alus! 

Di'simir and (u'nii;s nvv loo ofl roiinoclod. 
"Williin tiu" ai;iis whirli ixl'orc mo pass 

Art shall rosnnu' and ciuial ovon tlio sway 

Which with A|h1U's and old I'hidias 
Sho hold in Hollas' u\ifor>;(>ttoii day. 

Yo shall ho taught hv Uiiin to rovivo 

Tho (Jiooian forms al loasl from Ilu'ii' decay, 
And Koman souls at last auain shall li\o 

In Uonian wurUs \\rouL;lil by Italian hands. 

And loni|ilos, loflior than iho old toni|ilos, ixivo 
New wonders to ilie world; and while still stands 

Tho anstoro raiitlieon, into houveu shall soiir 

A dome, its inia;;e, while tho haso expuiuls * 
luto ii fane snriiassiny all hefore, — 

iSiioli as all llosh shall llook to kneel in; iio'or 

Slioh sijiht halh hoon nnt'olded by a door 
As this, to wliioh all nations shall repair 

And lay their sins at this hnye i;ate of heaven. 

And the hold Arehiteet unto whose eaiv 
The darinL; eharu'o to raise it shall he ^ivoii. 

Whom all lu'arls shall aeknow led^e as their lor'l, 

^\'llolhe^ into the marhlo eliaos driven 
llis eliisol hid tho llehrow, at whose word f 

Israel left l!L;ypt, stop tho waves in stone, 

Or hues ol' Hell he hy his penoil (lourM 
Over the daniird hefore the .luduiuont-throne.J 

Such as I saw them, sueli as all shall soi-, 

Ov fanes Ih' built of grandeur vet unknown, 
The stivam of his >;reut tlioujjlils shall .spring' from uie,} 

' The ('iii>i>li» of St. ivicr's. 

t 'I'lio slatuo of .Mososon tlio monuuu>nl i>r Julias H. 
SON Kin 1. 
/)(■ ('iortiiini /liilti-:la y.iij'pi, 
t'hl «S costiil.oho 111 ilura plclrii soolto, 
Sli'ilo Kt^ioiti'; I' li' |)Ui illiislii', 1- I'Kiito 
Oiuv tli'll' iuli' iivviui/ii, I' liii vivo, c pronto 
l.f liililila .sl.clio U' iiaii.lr us.M.ll.i:' 
yiU'sfo Mos. : lUMl iiu> 1 illivvii II lolto 
Oimi' lU'l iiUMilo, v I (lupplii raxsjio In tVonto, 
(vliu'>t' V Most'i.niiniuU" sci'iKloa tlol uionto, 
V, jrnui piii'lc ltd Nmiio nvca lu'l volto. 
Till orii iilU'r, olu- lo sonant i, c viisto 
A>'(|in' y\ sosposi' a so d' liitorno, o Into 
(,Uiiiiiilo II iii:n' olilaso, o no :'t (oinlia ultrill. 
K vol sno Initio iin rto viloUo iilzaslol' 
Al/.iilii iivosto iiiiimii u qiiosta ounalo! 
Cti' oia luon lallo 1' ailoivr ooslnl. 
\ Tho l.nst (Tii(l);niont, in llu' SIstino ('liiipol. 

!; I Imvo roail soniowlioro (II" I ito not orr, tor I rniinot n'oolloot whoiv), tfiiit 
t>:into WHS so uroal ii lavorllo of MIolmol An^olo's, Hint lio Innl itoslxnoil tho 
wli.ilo of tlio Dlvlau t'oiuuKHlla; tnit that tlio volume contniuliii; tlioso studios 
was lost by sun. 



THIi: I'HOPIIECV or DAXTi:. ;j2;j 

Tlic (iliiliclliric, wild li'iivrrscil llic tlu'cc I'oalins 

W'liiili I'liriii the (•iii|)ir(! of clcniily. 
Ami'lsl (he cl.'isli ol' swonls, mid chiM^'' of Ik^Iiiis, 

'J'lic ii;^!' wliidi I iiiilici|)ali!, no less 

SImll Ik; (lie A^'i: of Mi'iuily, and wliil<; wliclins 
Calainily the nations with disti'css, 

I'lu! fi'fniiis of my coiintfy kIiiiII ariso, 

TIk; (;('(lai' towcrnit;- o'(;f "t-li(; \Vild(M-tiosH, 
Lovely in all its hrani'hcs to all cyi's, 

J' la^rranl as fair, and i'('coHni/.(td afar, 

W'aflin^f its native inecuise lln'oni^li tlieskicH. 
Hovcrei;;ns shall pause amidst thi;ir sport, of war, 

Wean'il for an hour from blood, to turn and ^^azc 

On canvas or on stone; anil they wiio mar 
All heaiity upon earth, ermipell'd Ir) praise, 

iShidl feel thi' power of thai, which they destroy; 

And /\rt's mistaken liralilnde shall raise 
'I'o lyranls who hill lake her for a toy, 

I'jnhlems and monuments, and prostitntn 

Her chai-nis to ))outilfs proud,* who but eiu[)loy 
The man of tceniiis as the; meanest brute 

To bear a burden, and to serve a neetl, 

To sell his labors, and his soul to boot. 
^V'llo toils for nations may hi; pool' indeed, 

Hut frci;; who sweats foi' monarehs is no morn 

Thau the ci|| ehaiiiherlain, who, clothed and fce'd, 
iStiinds nieek and slavish, bowin;,'' at his doo.-. 

Oh, i'ower that riilest iind inspirest! how 

Is it that thev on I'lirth, vvhosi; earthly power 
Is likes! ihiiK! Ill lieav<ii in outward show, 
lyca^l like to thee in attribiile's diviiii', 

Tread oil the universal necks that bow. 
And then iissuri! ns that tiieir ri^^'lils are tiiwio ? 

And how is it thai they, the sons of faiiu;, 

AV'hose inspiration seems to them to shine ■ 
I'^i^oiii lii;.;h, they whom the nations ol'lest name, 

Must pass tlu'ir days in peiiiirv or pain, 

i>v step to ^ranileur lliioii;4li tin; paths of slminc, 
And W(;ar a deeper brand and ;4aii(lier cliaiii ? 

<)r if their destiny be born aloof 

J''r(uii lowliness, or templird thence in vain, 
111 tluur own souls sustain a. harder proof, 

'I'lie inner war of passions deep and /ierce ? 

I'Morenee! when I by harsh scnlenct; razed tny roof, 
1 loved thee, but the V(Ui;icancc of my verse, 

The hale of injuries which (;very year 

Makes f^rtratcr, and aceuiniilales my eiirsc, 
Hliall live, oiitlivinj^' all thou boldest dear. 

Thy pride, Ihy weallli, Iby fre<iloiii, and even that, 

The most infernal of all irvils lieri;. 
The sway of petty tyrants in a stale; 

J''or such sway is not limited to kiii;,'s. 

And deniatfo^fiies yield to Ihem but in dale. 
Ah Hwejjt oil' sooner"; in all (l<adl\ things, 

Soo till! treatinoiit of Mlcliufl Aiigolu \ty ./iilius 1 1., ami Ills neglect by LcoX. 



324 'I'^^t' PRoniEcr or daxte. 

Wliicli iiiiikc men liiito IIumuscIvcs, and one another, 

111 ilis<'()nl, cDwardicc, criK'lly, all lliat springs 
From Dcalli the Siii-i)i)ni's iucfsl with his niulluT, 

III rank opiircssioii in ils riuli-il slia|)c, 

Thi' lacticiii t:|iii'r is l)ii( (he Snllan's hrollicr, 
Ami till' worsi (lcs))i)l's I'ar K'ss liiiiiiaii ape: 

I'^iiircncc ! wlii'ii this lone spirit, which so lonjif 

Yi'arn'd, as ilie caplivi' loiliiiu' at escape, 
To lly hack to llice in di'spilc of wroiiji', 

An cxili", saddest of all prisniicrs, 

A\h(> has tiic whole world lor a diin;;eon stronjjr, 
Seas, niounlains, and tin- hori/on's verj^e for hars, 

Which shut him from the sole small spot of earth, 

AVlu're — whatsoe'er his fate — he still were hers. 
His coiinlry's, and iiii;ilil die where he had hirth — 

l'"lorenet^ ! when this lone sjiirit shall reliini 

To kindred spirits, thou wilt I'eel my worth, 
And seek to honor with an empty urn 

The ashes llioii shalt ne'er oht'ain— Alas ! 

" What have I done to thee, my people ? "* Stem 
Are all lliy dealings, hut in this they pass 

Tlu^ limits o( man's eommoii malice, for 

All thai a eiti/.eii could he, I was; 
liaised liy lliy will, all tliiiu' in peace or war. 

Ami for this thou hast warr'd with me — 'Tis douc : 

I may not overleuji the cleriial liar 
Ihiill n|) hclwecn lis, and will ilie alone, 

BcholdiiiL;' with the dark eye of a seer 

The evil days to gifted souls foreshown, 
I'orelellini^' them to those who will not hear, 

As in llie old tiiiie, till the hour he come 

When Iruili shall strike' their eyes lhniiiL:'li many a tear. 
And iniiko Uu>in own the I'rophel in his tomh. 

» " IC scrlssc plA vollo iikm soliitiu'iito ft pnrtlcolnri elttadinl dpi rpRjrimcntu mil 
aiiciiru 111 iiopiilo.c iiitnil' allio aim ICplstula iissal liuiKii cho eoraiiiclu: VopuU 
mi, quiU/vci iibif"— Vita di Dante scritla da Liotiardo Avetino. 



FRANCESCA OF RIMINI/ 

WRITTEN 1820. PUltLISIlKU 1830. 

FROM THE INFERNO OF DANTE. 

CANTO TT[E I'lFTII. 

" The land wlicrc \ Wiis l)oni sits \iy tlic soas,t 

Upon lliut shore to wliicli tlii^ I'o (tcsccMids, 

Witli all his i'ollowcrs, in sojircii of ]iciic<;. 
Love, which thi^ frfiiMc; hciDM soon iipprclKnids, 

Seized him for thi' i'air pei'son which was ta'en 

From me, and me even yet tho mode offends. 
Love, who lo none heloved to love aji'ain 

Ilcrnits, seized mc with wish to please, so strong', 

That, as thou scest, yet, yet it doth remain. 
Love to one death conducted ns alon;,''. 

But Caina \ waits for him oiii' life wlio ended : " 

These were (he accents ntter'd hy her ton;j;ue. — 
Since I first lislen'd to these souls otrended, 

I how'd my visa^'^e, and so kept it till — 

" What think'st thou ?" said the hard; wlien I nnhended, 
Anil I'econimcnced : "Alas! unto such ill 

How many sweet thou;ihts, what stron;^ ecstasies, 

Led these their evil fortune to fidfil ! " 
And then 1 turuM unto their side my eyes, 

And said, " I'^rancesca, thy sad dc^stinies 

llavc! made \\w sorrow till the tears arise. 
But tell me, in tin; season of sweet sij^hs, 

l$y what and how thy love to passion rose, 

So as his dim desires to reeo;;iiize ?" 
Then she lo mc : " The greatest of all woes 

• Franccsca, diuitOilcr of Ciiiil", Lord of lliivonna, waN (,'ivcii Ijy lier fiithor in 
mnrriHK<' to l,iiiii-lotto, I,onl of Kiiiiliil, a inaii lildcoiisly dcfoniiod. Afraid of 
dlRKHHliiit,' Ills lirldc', l,MMrlollo n^Holvi'd to lie iimrr-|cd liy proxy: and sent lis iiiH 
rcprfKciitiitlvi^ Ills hiollicr I'aolo. wlio was tli(! liiiiidsoiticiil and iiioHt acooni- 
jillslK'd cjiviillir ill Italy. Ili' ciiKiiui'd the Itridi^s allcctliaiH, and tliey wen- tjoth 
put to (li'iitli, altcrwiirilH, liy the ctinD.'cd liiisbaiid. Tlic father of the unliappy 
lady WHS llii' frlcMid and prolcctor of Diiiite. 

t Havcmia. 

i Th(! phico wlicri! tlic siails of fratricides suHcr. 



S2G Fi{AM'i:s('A or ihmixi. 

Is Id rciiiiml lis o{' our li;ii)|iy diivs 

In iiiisciy, iiinl lliiit lliy Ii'mcIut knows. 
But il" lo U'iini our pMssion's lirst root pivys 

Upon lliy s)>ii'il witli sucli syin|iiitln', 

I will lio even iis lu' who weeps nnil smvs. 
^^'l' I'l'iul oiH" (lliy I'or piislinic, sc.'iled uiuli, 

Of Liuu'ilol, how love eiiehainM him too. 

Wo wore iilone, (luite unsuspieioiisly. 
But oft our eyes met, ;iii(l our ehoeks in hue 

All t^'or iliseolor'il hy tli;il reiuliuL;' were; 

lint one point onlv wholly ns o'erlhrew; 
When we reiul the (oni^-siuliM-lbr smile of her,, 

To he thus kissM hy sneh devoted lover, 

lie who from me eim he divided ne'er 
Kiss'd my mouth, tremhlini;' in the iicl all over: 

Aeeiirsed was the hook and he who wrote! 

'That day no further leaf we did uncover."^ 
While tliii's one spirit told us of llieir lot, 

The other wept, so thai with pilv's Ihralls 

1 swoon'd, as if hy death I had lieen suioto. 
And tell down e\ en us a deivv! body fiiiis. 



HEBREW MELODIES. 



ADYEKTLSEIMENT. 

Tm; siiliscfuifiit ix)cras wcro written ut the rocjucst of my friend, tiic Hon, 
I>i)iij,'lns Kinnainl, for n Selection ir( llelirew Meloilies, (ind have been piitj- 
lislicd, witli the music, urrnnged by Mr. ISralium and Mr. Nattiau. 



SHE WAEKS IN liEATITY. 

She walks in l)f:uit}-, liUc tlie iiiolit 
()(' (•loiiiUcHS cliiiu's iuid slurry oleics ; 

Ami :ill tli;it 's best of ihifk ami bfight 
Mvcl in licr iispcct :iml her (!vos: 

Tliiis nicllow'il to liiat. tender li'o'Ut 
^\'llil,•ll lu'iiven t<» ^;mdy diiy ilonics. 

Ouc shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half inipair'd the naiiieles.s grace, 

Wiiich waves in eveiy raven IresH, 
Or sdi'lly li;:]ilens o'er her lace; 

Where thono'hts serenely sweet express, 
How ))iire, how dear their dwellino-placc. 

Ami on that ehcck, and o'er that brow, 

So soft, so ealni, yet cli)C[nciit, 
The smiles that wiii, the tints that glow, 

Unt tell ol days in goodness spent, 
A niin<l at |)('aee with all l)elow, 

A heart whose love is iunoeent! 



THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT- 

TiiK harp the monareh minstrel swept, 
The King of men, the loved of Heaven, 

\Vhieli Music hallow'd while she wept 
O'ei- tones her heart of heai-ts liad given. 
Redoubled be her teai-s, its chords are rivcu ! 

It soften'd men of iron nioiiM, 

It gave them virtues not their own; 

No ear so dull, no soul so eold, 
That fell not, tired not to the tone, 
Till David's lyre grew mightier than liis throne. 

327 



328 II i: II in: \]' Mi:ij)nn:s. 

It, toll the triiunplis of our Kin;;, 

II wul'li'il ;^liirv to our (Joil ; 
It iimilo our n'liu'lik'irii vsiUovs rin;;, 

'I'lio ci'diirs l)o\v, tlio luouiituius noil; 

lis sound iis|)iri'tl to Iu'hvcm, and tlu'ir al)odo ! 
Siufc tlu'u, lliou^h licard on carlli no nioro, 

|)('\olion, and Iut ihiu^;liti'i' Love, 
Still liid llu' luirs(in;r spirit soar 

'I'o sounds lliat. si'cni as tVoni aliovo, 

ludi'caniM that day't; liroad li;;lil cannot roiuovo. 



11'' THAT lilt.'il WOKl.D. 

If that hi;;li world, which lies licvoud 

Oni' own, snr\i\in'.,' I.ovo endears; 
If there the ehcrish'd hearl lie fond, 

Tiio eve the same, except in ti'ars — 
How wi'leomc those nnlroddcn s|ihei'03! 

How sweet this very hour to tiio ! 
To soar fidui eai'lh, and tindjUl fears 

Lost in thv li.u'ht - I'lternilv ! 

It must he so: 'tis i\ot for self 

'I'hat wc so trendilc on the l>rink ; 
And striving;- to o'erleap the i^'ulf, 

Yet clin^' to lleiu;;''s si'vcrinj;' link. 
Oh! in that future let, us think 

To hold each hcail the heart, that shares, 
Willi Ihem Ihc ininiortal wal.crs driuU, 

And soul in soul ;^row deathless l.heil's! 



THK Wild) (JA/Kl.l.i:. 

TllK wild ^a/cllc (Ml dudah's hills 

I'Aullin^' ^■el nuiv hound, 
And drink t'roiu all the livinu" rills 

That ■;iish on holy ^rounil ; 
Its airy stc)i and ;;lorions eye 
Miiy {i'lance in tanieloss transport by: — 

A step as licet, an eye more Imj-'ht, 

Hath dudah witnessM there; 
And o'er her scenes of lost delight 

Inhaliitants more fair. 
The cedars wave oi\ l,chaiioll, 
lint dudah's statelier maids are gone! 

JNlori- Mcst each palm that shades those plains 

Than Isiacl's scatlcr'd race; 
For, takiuT root, it thi-re renuuns 

In solitary I'racc : 
It cannot tiuit its place of hirth, 
It will not live in other earth. 



n 




Jei'tha's Daugiitkr. — Page 329. 



HEBREW MELODIES. 329 

But we must wander witheringly, 

In other lands to die ; 
And wlierc our failiers' ashes be, 

Our own may never lie : 
Our tcnijale hath not left a stone, 
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne. 



OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. 

Ou ! weep for those that wept by Babel's sti-eam, 
"Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream ; 
"Weep for the hai-p of Judah's broken shell ; 
Mourn — where their God hath dwelt the Godless dwell ! 

A nd where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet ? 
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet ? 
And Judah's melody once more rejoice 
The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ? 

Tribes of the wandeiing foot and weary breast. 
How shall ye flee away and be at rest ? 
The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave. 
Mankind their country — Israel but the grave ! 



ON JORDAN'S BANKS. 

On Jordan's banks the Ai-ab's camels stray, 

On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, 

The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep — 

Yet there — even there — God ! Thy thunders sleep : 

There — where Thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone ! 
There — where Thy shadow to Tliy people shone ! 
Thy glory shroiuled in its garb ol' fire : 
Thyself — none living see and not expire ! 

Oh! in the lightning let Thy glance appear; 
Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear: 
How long by tyrants shall Thy land be trod ! 
How long Thy temple worshipless, O God ! 



JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. 

Since our Country, our God — oli, my sire ! 
Demand that thy daughter expire ; 
Since tliy triumph was bought by thy vow — 
Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now ! 

And the voice of ray mourning is o'er. 
And the mountains behold me no more : 
If the hand that I love lay me low. 
There cannot be pain in the blow ! 
And of this, oh, my father ! be sure — 
That the blood of thy child is as pure 
As the blessing I beg ere it tlow, 
And the last thought that soothes mc below. 



330 HEBREW MELODIES. 

Though the virgins of Salem lament. 
Be the judg-e and the hero unbent ! 
I have won the great battle for thee, 
And my father and country are free ! 

When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, 
When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, 
Let my memory still be thy pride, 
And forget not I smiled as I died ! 



OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IX BEAUTY'S BLOOMc 

On! snatch'd away in beauty's liloom, 
On thee sh;ill press no ponderous tomb; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves, the earliest of the ycai% 
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom! 

And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, 

And feed deep thonglit with many a dream, 
And lingering pause and lightly tread; 
Foud wretch ! as if her step disrturb'd the dead! 

Away ! ye know that tears are vain, 

That death nor heeds nor hears distress : 

Will this unteach us to complain ? 
Or make one mourner weeji the less ? 

And thou — who tcll'st ine to forget 

Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 



MY SOUL IS DARK. 

Mt soul is dark — oh ! quickly string 

The harp I yet can lirook to hear; 
And let thy gentle fingers Hiug 

Its melting murnuirs o'er mine car. 
If in this heart a hope be dear, 

That sound shall charm it forth again : 
If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 

'Twill How, and cease to burn my brain. 

But hid the strain be wild and deep, 

Nor let thy notes of joy be first : 
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep. 

Or else this heavy heart shall burst; 
For it hath been by sorrow nursed. 

And ached in sleepless silence long; 
And now 'tis doom'il to know the worst, 

And break at once — or yield to song. 



I SAW THEE WEEP. 

I SAW thee weep — the big bright tear 
Came o'er that eye of Ijlue ! 

And then methought it did appear 
A violet dropping dew : 



HE DREW MELODIES. 33 \ 

I saw thcc smile — the sapphire's blaze 

Ucsidc thcc ceased to shine; 
It could not niatcii the living rays 

That lill'd that ylaucc of thine. 

As clouds from yonder sun receive 

A deep and mellow dye, 
Which scarce the shade of coming eve 

Can banish from the sky, 
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind 

Their own pure joy impart; 
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind 

That lightens o'er the heart. 



TIIY DAYS ARE DONE. 

Thy days are done, thy fame begun ; 

Thy country's strains record 
The triunii)hs of her chosen Son, 

The slaughters of his sword ; 
The deeds he did, the ticlds he won, 

The freedom he restored ! 

Thout;h thou art fall'n, while wc are free 
Thou shalt not taste of death ! 

The generous blood that tlow'd from thee 
Disdain'd to sink beneath : 

Within our veins its currents be, 
Thj- spirit on our breath ! 

Thv name, our charging hosts along, 

Shall be the battle-word ! 
Thy fall, the theme of choral song 

From virgin voices pour'd ! 
To wceji would do thv glory wrong ; 

Thou shalt not be deplored. 



SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE, 

Warriors and chiefs ! should the shaft or the sword 
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, 
Ilced not the corse, though a king's, in your path : 
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath ! 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow. 
Should the soldit'rs of Saul look away from the foe, 
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! 
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet. 

Farewell to others, but never we part, 
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! 
Bright is ilic diadem, liouudless the sway, 
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day. 



332 HEBREW MELODIES. 

SAUL. 

Tnou whose spell can raise the dead, 
Bid the jn-oplict's form appear. 

" Samuel, raise thy buried head! 
King, behold tlie phantom seer ! " 

Earth yawn'd ; he stood the centre of a cloud :^ 
Ivii;ht chauf^ed its hue, retiring from his shroud. 
Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; 
His hand was witherVl, and his veins were dry ; 
His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, 
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare; 
From lips that moved not, and unbrcathing frame, 
Like cavcrn'd winds, the hollow accents came. 
Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, 
At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. 

" Why is my sleep disquieted ? 
Who is he that calls the dead ? 
Is it thou, O King ? Behold, 
Bloodless arc these limbs, and cold: 
Such are mine; and such shall be 
Thine to-morrow, when with me j__ 
Ere the cdiuing day is dt)nc. 
Such sludt thou bc^ such thy son. 
Fare thee well, but for a day. 
Then we mix our mouldering clay. 
Thou, thy race, lie pale and low. 
Pierced by shafts of many a bow ; 
And the falchion by thy side 
To thy heart thy hand 'shall guide : 
Crownless, breathless, headless tall, 
Sou and sire, the house of Saul." 



«'ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER. 

Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine. 

And health and youth possess'd me; 
My goblets l)lush'cl from every vine, 

And lovely forms caress'd me; 
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes, 

And felt my soul grow tender ; 
All earth can give, or mortal prize, 

Was mine of regal splendor. 

I strive to niuiibcr o'er what days 

Rcnienil)rance can discover, 
Which all that life or earth displays 

Would lure me to live over. 
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour 

Of pleasure uuembitter'd ; 
And not a trapping deck'd my power 

That gall'd not while it glitter'd. 

The serpent of the field, by art 
And spells, is won from harming ; 



HEBREW MELODIES. 333 

But tliat whicli coils aroniul tlie lioart, 

Oh ! will) liatli )wvvcr of cliai-iuiug ? 
It will not list to wisdom's lore, 

Nor imisic's voice can lure it; 
But there it stini;s for evermore 

The soul that must endure it. 



WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY. 

When coldness wraps this sufferinjr clay, 

Ah ! whither strays the immortal mind ? 
It cannot die, it cannot stray, 

But leaves its darken'd dust behind. 
Then, uncmbodied, doth it trace 

Bv steps each ))lanet's heavenly way ? 
Or fill at once the realms of space, 

A thing of eyes, that all survey ? 

Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, 

A thought unseen, but seeing all. 
All, all in earth or skies display'd 

.Shall it survey, shall it recall : 
Each fainter trace that memory holds 

So darkly of departed years. 
In one broatt glance the soul beholds. 

And all that was iit once appears. 

Before Creation peopled earth. 

Its eye shall roll tliroujih chaos back; 
And where the larlhest iieaven had birth, 

The spirit trace its rising track; 
And where the future mars or makes, 

Its glance dilate o'er all to be, 
While sun is quench'd or system breaks, 

Fix'd in its own eternity. 

Above or Love, Hope, Ilatc, or Fear, 

It lives all passionless and piu"? : 
An age shall fleet like earthly year : 

Its years as moments shall endure. 
Away, away, without a wing. 

O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly, 
A nameless and eternal thing, 

Forgetting what it was to die. 



VISION OF BELSIIAZZAR. 

The King was on his throne, 

Tlie Satraps throng'd the hall. 
A thousand bright lamps shone 

O'er tliat high festival. 
A thousand cups of gold, 

In Judah dccin'd divine — 
Jehovah's vessels hold 

The "odless Heathen's wine. 



584 



HEBREW MELODIES. 

In that same hour ami hall, 

The fiiiixers ot' a liaiul 
Caino t'orlh ULiainst ihc wall, 

Ami wrote as if o.i saiul: 
The lingers of a man; — 

A solitary hand 
Alon;;- the letters ran, 

And traeod them like a waniL 

The monarch saw, and shook, 

And hade no more rejoice; 
All l>lood!css wax'd his look, 

And tremulous his voice. 
"Let the men of lore appear. 

The wisest of the earth, 
And exjiound tlie words of fear, 

\\'hieh mar our royal mirth." 

Chaldea's seers arc jjood. 

IJut here they have no skill : 
And the unknown letters stood 

Untold and awful still. 
Anil Uahcl's men of au'(r~ 

Are wise and deep in lore; 
But now they were not sayrc, 

Thoy saw — hut knew no more. 

A captive in tlie land, 

A stran,L;'er and a yontli, 
lie heard the kinu's command, 

lie saw liiat writiuu's truth. 
The lamps around were hright, 

The prt)plieey in view; 
He read it on lli:it ni^ht — 

The morrow proveil it true. 

" Bclshazzar's j;rave is made, 

His kinu'dom ]iass'd awav, 
lie, in the balance wci.Lih'il, 

Is li^iiit and worthless elay. 
The shroud his rolie of slate. 

His canopy the stone : 
The Mode is at his uate ! 

The Persian on his throne ! " 



STTN OF THE SLEEPLESS. 

Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star ! 
Whose tearful beam <;lows tremulously far, 
That show'st the ilarkness thou canst nt)t iHspcl, 
How like art thou to joy rcmemhei''d well! 
yo fleams the jiast, tlie lij^ht of other days, 
Which shines, hut wanns not with its powerless rays; 
A uiL;ht-l)i'aui Sorrow watcheth to behold, 
Distinct, but distant— clear, but oh, how cold! 



HEBREW MELODIES. 335 

WERE ISTY BOSOM AS FALSE AS THOU DEEM'ST IT 
TO BE. 

Weke my l)o.som as false as thou dccm'st it to bo, 

I need not luivc wander'il I'rora lar (ialilec : 

It was l)ut abjurinji' my creed to etfaec 

The curse which, thou say'st, is the crime of my race: 

If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee ! 
If tlie slave only sin, thou art spotless and free ! 
If the exile on earth is an outcast on liijrii, 
Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die. 

I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, 
As tjie (iod who pcrnnts thee to prosper doth know : 
In His hand is my heart and my liope — and in thine 
The land and the life wliu'li lor Ilim I resi'Mi. 



HEROD'S LAMENT FOR ISLVRLVMNE. 

On, Mariamne ! now for thee 

The heart for which lliou blcdst is Ijiceding : 
Revenue is lost in ay:ony, 

And wild remorse to raj^-c succeeding. 
Oh, Mariamne ! where thou art 

Thou canst not hear my i)itter pleading ; 
Ah ! couldst thou — tiiou wouldst pardon now. 

Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding. 

And is she dead ? — and did they dare 

Obey my frenzy's jealous raving ? 
My wrath but doom'd my own despair: 

Tlie sword that smote her 's o'er me waving 
But thou art cold, my murder'd love ! 

And this dark heart is vainl}- craving 
For her v/lio soars alone above, 

And leaves my soul unworthy saving. 

She 's gone, who shared my diadem ; 

She sunk, witli lier my joys entondjing; 
I swept that Uower from Judah's stem, 

Whose leaves for me alone were blooming; 
And mine's the guilt, and mine tlie hell, 

This ))osom's desolation dooming ; 
And I liave earn'd those tortures well. 

Which unconsumed are still cousiiriiinj'! 



ON THE DAY OF TJIE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM 
BY TITUS. 

From the last liill that looks on thy once holy dome 
I belield thee, O Sion ! when rcndcr'd to Rome: 
'Twas thy last sun went down, and the llames of thy fall 
Flash'd back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. 



336 HEBREW MELODIES. 

I lookM for thy tcinplo, I lookM for my home, 

And foi'ji'ot for a moiiieiit the boiuliiue to conic; 

I beheld hut the death-tu-e that fed on thy fane, 

And the fast-fcttcr'd hands that made vengeance in vaiu 

On manv an eve, the hij:i;h spot whence I gazed 
Had relteeted the hist beam of day as it bhized : 
"While I stood on the height, and beheld the decline 
Of the rays from the mountain that shone on tliy shrine. 

And now on that mountain I stood on that da)', 
But I nuirk'd not tlii' twilight beam mcltiug away; 
Oh! would tiial the lightning had ghircd iu its stead, 
And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror's head ! 

But the gods of the Pagan shiill never profane 
The sln-ine where Jehovah disilain'd not to reign; 
And scatter'd and scorn'd as Thy people niaj- be, 
Our worship, O Father ! is only for Thee. 



BY THE RrV^ERS OF BABYLON WE SAT DOWN 
AND WEPT.— 

Wk sate down and wept bv the waters 
Of IJabcl, and thought of the day 

When (Utr foe, iu the hue of his slaughters, 
Made Salem's high places his prey; 

And ye, oh her desolate daughters! 
Were scatter'd all weeping away. 

While sjully we gazed on the river 
Which roU'd on iu freedom below, 

They di'niauded the song; but, oh never 
Tliat triumph the stranger shall know! 

May this right hand be wither'il for ever, 
Ere it string our liigh harp for the foe ! 

On the willow that harp is suspended, 
O Salem ! its sound should be free ; 

Anil the liour when thy glories were ended 
lint left me that token of thee : 

And ne'er shall its soft tones be l)lcnded 
With the voice of the spoiler by me ! 



THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold. 
And liis cohorts were gleaming iu purple and gold; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen : 
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown. 
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strowu. 



HEBREW MELODIES. 337 

For tlic Anjj^cl of Death sin-ead liis wini^s on the blast, 
And hivatliod in the laee of the foe as he pass'd ! 
Anil the eyes of the .slee|)er.s wax'd deailly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 
But thron;:;h it there roH'cl not the breath of his pride : 
And the foam of his ^aspinj^- lay white on the turf. 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beatiny surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With tlie dew on liis brow and the rust on his mail ; 
And the tents wore; all silent, the banners alone. 
The lances iinlifteil, the trumpet unlilown. 

And th.c widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; 
Anil the mij;ht of the (icntile, unsmotc by the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the olance of the Lord ! 



A SrilllT I'ASS'i) UKFOHE ME. 

FROM Jon. 

A Spirit pass'd before mo : I beheld 

The face of immortality tuneil'd — 

Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine — 

And there it stood — all foi'udcss, iuit divine : 

Alonj;' my bones tlie creeping,' llesh diil (piake; 

And as my damp hair stitfen'd, thus it spake : 

" Is man more just than God ? Is man more pura 
Than ][c who deems even Seraphs insecure ? 
Creatui-cs of clay — vain dwellers in the dust! 
The moth survives you, and are ye more just ? 
Things of u day ! vou wither ere the nl'^ht, 
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light! " 
22 



HOURS OF IDLENESS: 

A SERIES OF rOEISIS, ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED, 



" Vlr(.'i"l'>"s \iiiorisquo cunto."— IIoitAi'K, lil). lii., Odo 1. 

"il/)/r* (if) /If iiiiV (iii'ff, fi>'irt ri )'f/».fi."--II<)Mi.;u, Iliad, x. 2-13. 

"Ho wliistlcil as ho wont, Ibr want of thought."— DitvuiiK. 



THE UIOIIT IIONOUAHLE 

FR15DERICK, EARL OF CARLISLE, 

KNIOIIT (H'" THK C.AliTKIS, KTC, ETC., 

THIS SECOND ICDITION Or TIIK.SU VOKMS IS INSCKIBliD, 

IIY HIS 

OULKaai WAUD AND AIFKCTIONATB KINSMAN, 



TllK AUTnOR. 



338 



I'lnClWCE. 



In dllhmlttlUKtd llio pilhllc cvp llin n.lIowliiK (•dll.cll r luivo not i.nlv In 

romliiit ilKMllilli'iililcH llml wriii'i-N or vcrNn nf'ii<'nill,v <'ii(niiiii('r, imi iii;i\ iiuiii- 

till' cliiii'yo iiC prcHiiiiiiilliiii (ill' (ilili-iiilliiK mvscll mi ||i<i vm,i|,|, hI , uilliuiil 

iloiilil, I iiil«lil lie, III iiiv iiMi', more iiHi'f'iill.\ i|.N>miI. 

'I'li.iNi' iiriMliiclluiiH mo llic n-til(H v\' Uh\ ll|.|iln- IihiuhiiI n y„uuu niiui hIiu Ims 

'"li'l.v pli'lcd IiIn iiliu'lci'iilli .vciir. Ah llic.v Ii.mii' (lid liili'iiml cvl.l i< itf a 

Ihi.vInIi tiiliiil, IIiIn 1h, |ioiIim|in, iiiiii.'ci'HMnr.v liilMnimildii. Hniiic linv wcii' uilUi'ii 
(lili-lin; IIkmIIhiuIviuiIiikcs (if llliicNH iiiul il('|in'K>iliiM <il' HplrlN : iiii.hTlhc (niiiifi' 
liilliM'ii.T, '• CiiiMiiHii Unciil.i.Kci'iciNH," ill iiinllciilnr, Wfic niiii|Mi',<(|. Ilils 
cniislilcnillnii, liiiiimli It cMiiiKil I'NcKii till. vuliT 111 iHiiis.'. iMM.v III IciiHl nn-i'Hl 
till' m-tn 111 riMiHiirc. A I'lmslilcnilili' imrlliin nf llii'm. iuiciiin Iiiin limi prlviiti'ly 
pi-liilril, at, llm ri'i|in.H| nml Cur llii< pi'nisnl of iii.v IVIciiili. I am HniHllilc tliiit llm 
pni'llal anil ln'i|iu'iill.v liijiiillrliiiiH niliiili'Mlliiii (iC a miclal rlri'ln In iioI llir cillr 
rioli li,v wlilcli pimllcal Mi'iiliiN Im (u In. i.hIIiiiiiIimI, yi'l, " In ilu Kfi'illl.v," uo iiuml 
"ilin-i't,i-('iitl.vi" mill I liiivj' liiizmiliMl m.v n'piilnllnii miil Ici'IIiihh Hi piilillsliliiK 

HiIh viiliiiiii'. " I linvi. pn«HiMl llii. liiiM " anil iiiiimI Niaiiil iir liill li.y (In. " cant 

111 (III' illi'." In (III' iMlliT I'M III, I sliall sniiinll wllliuiit a niiii'iiinri I'm', IIiihihIi 
II. . I wKli'.iit sullciiiiii,^ r.ii- (he iiii,. ,,(• (iirs,. (.IliiHlimH, i:i,v ('.\pi.i'lalliiii« am li.v im 
iiH'iiiiM HMiiKiiliii.. II I:. |'i"lial 1" iliiil I limy Iwivu ilat'i'il niiicli ami ilnim IKllr; 
I'ii', In (111' wiicilM nr Ciuvpi'i', " l( |h hmh IIiIiik In wrilii wliiit niay iili-aKu iiiir 
lili'iiiN, «liii, iM'i'anm' (lii'y ai'i' Kill h, ari' apt In Im a llllln lilasi'il In mil' luvni'; 
mill aiinllii'i' to Willi! wluK niiiy pli'iimi I'Vi'i'ylinily, lii'i'iuisii lliry wlin liavi< nii 
cnniUHitlnll, 111' liven knnwli'iluiMif Ilio ailllinf, will lin mii'ii In lliiil Imill If (lipy 
can." Til tlio tridl' of tlil», liownvci', l do imt wholly hiiIihi'I'IIki; on lluH'oMli'ai'y, 

I (W'l mnvlnciiil that IIu'hh (i'IiIhh will not Im li'i'iili'd wllli IiiJiinIIi'I'. Tlinli'iiii'i'll, 

II tlii'y poHHi'iiH any, will liii lllii'nilly allnwcd; (lii'lr iiiimici'ohh Caiiltn, on Ilic 
iitlu-r limiil,i'atiiioti'xpi'i't thai favor whlrh Iiiin lii-rn ili'iili'd lo odii'i'H of inadiii'i' 
yi'iii'd, (li'i'lili-il I'hararli'i', and fur hitiiIi'I' »IiIIII>'. 

I havfi not aliiii'il n( I'Xi'IiinIvi' ni'lKlnalK y, hIIII Ichn hiivi' I Nliidli'd miy pmllni 
liir niiidi'l I'm' hiillnll"ii: smu.. I niii'diil lmi« .'U'n rh.'ii, nl will. Ii inmiy me p;irii 

I''"'""'!'-' I' il:;l"iil I'll'''"* llii'i" iii.iy M| Ill- a rnMiul .■..liiriihiii.i' « itii 

iiiithoi's wli.iNi. (mii'Um I hiivi' lii'i'ii ai'iiittmiH'd (o rrad; liiil I liavii not Ihtii 
KtilKy of liUi'iKlniiiil plinrlmlNiii. 'I'n pi'odiii'i. anydiliiM cnllri'ly iii'vv, In an ami 
HO liTllli' III ihviiii', wmiid III. a lii'i'nili'mi taNk,aK (ivci'y huIiJitI has nli'i-ndy 

' ' 'I'''' ' I" il'' iiliii"'! isli'iil. l'..rliy,l,ourvi'i', In not my primary viinidon'; 

loiUvi-rl liii'iliiil I I-. ..(• liMllMii.iNldmi, or dm inoliodiiiy of a vuraiit hour, 

iirui'd nil' " to iIiIm Hill ; " mill' can he cxpcclcd from mi miprnmlNliiK a miiHc. My 
wicatli, Kcaiity an It nitiKt he, Ik all I Hhall ilurlvu fVniii tlicHc prodni'tliiiiH; and I 



340 iKuiis OF n)Li:\i-:ss. 

slinll ncvcM- ntliMuiit to \vi>l:u-(> lis fiulln;: Icnvos, or jiliick n .i!tii:U> mldllloniil 
sjirlj: tViiiu );r<>V(-s wIhtc I iim, at lu'st, ,iii InlnuU'r. 'I'lioii^li lui'iisliinu'il, in lu.v 
yountri'i' (lays, to rovi> u omivIoss niouiitjiliu'cr on llio lll^liliiiuls of ScotUiul, I 
liiivo not, of liite yciiis, liiul llio IumumU of siuli pmv iiir, or so olovatod u rosl- 
ilonco, US iul»;lit (<n:il)lo luo to I'ulcr llu- lists wlili ;;onuliio Ijiinls who hnvo on- 
Jojnil liotli tlicso mlvantnxos, lUit tlu-y ilorlvo ooiisliloriiblp laiiio, niul a fow not 
U'ss)>rollt, iVoni tlioir proiliiftlons: wlillc 1 shall cxidato my riishiiossas an Intor- 
lopor, ci-rtalnly wllhonl the lullrr, ami In all )irol)iili!li:y with a very sli^lil share 
of till' fornu'r. 1 Icavi' to others " vlrinu volllaro pot ora." 1 look to tho few 
•who will hoar with patloiioo " dnloo est tU'slpcro In loco." To tho former worthies 
1 resl:j;n, without repining', tho hope o( Inunorlallty, ami content myself with tho 
not very ma;;nllleeiit prospeet of rankin),' amonjjst '" tho mob of (jenflemen who 
write "—my readers must determine whether I dare say " with ease "—or tho 
honor of a posthnmons pa^e In " Tho Cataloirne of Uoyal and Noble Anthors," — 
n work to wlileli the IVeraKO Is tnidor Intlnlto oblliratlons, Inasmneh as many 
names of eonslderable length, sonnd, ami antiiinlly, are thereby rosonod IVom 
the obseiirlty which iiuhieklly overshadows several voluminous prodnetlons of 
their lllustrlons bearers. 

With sllKht hopes, and some tears, 1 pnblish this llrst and last attempt. T.i 
the dietates of yonns ambition may bo ascribed many actions more crii\ilnal and 
0(inally absurd. To a few of my own a^;<' tho contents may allord amusement : 
1 trust they will, at least, bo found liarndess. It ls-W>:bly Improbaldo, from my 
situation and pnrsidts hereafler, that I should over obtnide myself a second timo 
on thopnbli<'; nor, even In tho very doubtful event of present IndulKonco, shall 
I be tempted to comndt a fiiltire trespass of the same nature. The opinion <it 
Dr. .lohnson on tlie rooms of a noble relation of mine.* "That when a man of 
rank appeared in tlie character of an author, ho deserved to have his merit 
linndsomely allowed," can have Utile weluht with verbal, and still less with 
periodical censors; but were it otherwise, I should lioloth to avail myself of tho 
prlvlle,ire, and would rather Inetn- the bitterest censure of iinonymous criticism, 
than triumph In honors granleil solely to a title. 

♦ The Karl of (^irlisle, whose works have l.nii.' received the meed of public 
applause, to wlileli, by their intrinsic worlli, they were well eiUilled. 



1802. 



ITOTTRS OF IDIJCNESS. 



OM 'IHK DKATII Ol" A YOI'NC LADY, 

OOUHI.N TO TIIIC AirrHOIC.ANI) VICIIV DMAIt TO IIIM.* 

IIlIHIl'l) lir<' lll(! will<l><, illxl Mlill |||(! (!V.'llill«' n'looiii, 
Nn( c'cii II zi'lihyi' wiuiilci'H I lii'oiij^li IIk' "lovr, 

Wliilsl I ri'liifii, lo view my Miir;^iii(l's loiiil), 
Ami Mcatlcr IIdwci'm nn ihc ilusl I lovr. 

Williiii lliJH liiiiTovv cell rcciiiK-, licr cl.w , 
^'i'lisilcliiy, vvluM'i; once nii' li :iiiiiiial ioii licunril, 
Tin: Kiiif,' ol 'I'crrors Ncizcd In;)' um liis iircy; ■ 

Not, woilli, nor Imiiiity, liuvi; li(;r liib redeem''!. 
Oh ! colli, I iliiif, Kirifr III' Ti-.yvdVH pilv (Vcl, 

Or Ilciivcii reverse llie dreiid (lecrcM-s offiilo ! 
Nol, lier<; llie iiioiiiiier would Iijh ^i'rief I'ctveid, 

Not lieie llic niiiho lier virtiie.i would relate. 

IJilt wliercfore weep ? Her iniiteJileMs Hpirit HOiirw 
Hcyond wliere Mplciidid Hliiiies (lie orli ol' day; 

And \vi'e|.iii^ iiiip-ls lend her to lliose liowers 
WliiTe (MKlleMH pleiiMiircs vii'liie'M deeds rejiay. 

And hliiill presimipdioiiM niortiiN llenven (irriiigri, 
^ And, mildly, ;^iidlike rroviijcnr'c neeiise ? 
All ! lio,^ I'rir lly IVoiii me ■■illeliipls ho viiiii; — 
J'll iie'(;r siilmiisMion lo my (i<it[ rel'uMe. 

Yet is rememhriiiieo oftliosi^ virliies dejir. 
Yet fresli Mie memory of tltid, l)e;uil< oiis fiiec ; 

Htill lliey eiill fortli my wiiriii idleelion's K^itr, 
Htill in my lieiirt reUiii their wonted place. 



TO K 

l-l','r I'olly Kiiiile, lo viitw llie n.'imes 
of thee iiiid me in Criend-hip twined; 

Yet, VirliK; will have ;,'-reulcr eliiiniM 
To love, than I'unk with vice comhined. 

• Tlif^niKliorrliilniHthi! )iiiliilK(Mir(M,f l|i<. rriulcr inont fur IIiIh iiiu.,. n,,,,, t,-t. 
m|iH, iinv oilMT III Uw .•„II.Mil„n; Iml ii- It w.is urllirii „l iiii ••iirll... ,„.,,, „|'||,,.„ 
111- ivKt flM- li,K <-o,M|M.»..,| „i II,.. „K,. „|- liMirlr.'!,;, i.iKl l.lN ||,M ..KH.iv, „• p.-.r-rr- 
MiUMlMIni,- t lo II,- In.li.lK.i.c- ol'l.lH ni-u<l» In ll» present hU\i\; l.l nmkllif 
-Itli-r ikMIiIoii .,r nll-rull(jii. i , i ' i.m»iiij 

Ml 



342 II or us of idleness. 

And thmii:li unoiiiial is Ihy f;iti\ 
Siiico lilli" ilcckM my hii;licr birth, 

Yet onvy imi this ),f:uuly st;ito; 

Thiiio is the ]iri(lc ol'iiiodest worth. 

Our souls at K'Msl con'^'ciiial niee-t, 
Nor can thy lot uiy rank disuraco; 

Our intoroourse is not loss sweet, 

Since worth ol rank supphes the place. 
November, 1802. 



TO D- 



In thee, I fondly hoped to elasp 

A friend, whom death alone conkl sever; 

Till envv, with mali^^nant ji'rasp, 

Detaeh'd thee from my breast for ever. 

True, she has forced thee from my breast, 
Yet, in my heart thou keeji'st thy seat; 

There, there thine imajio still must rest, 
Tfntil that heart shall cease to beat. 

And, when the fir.avc rcstoi-es her doacl, 
\\'hcn life aL;;iin to dust is j;-iven, 

On thy dear breast I'll lay my head- 
Without thee, where would be my lieavcn ? 
Fthruartj, 1803. 



EPlTArir ox A FRIEND. 

A<TT>io TTfiu' nh> IXiifiTTti it'l ^umaiv iyoj.— Lakrtius. 

O Fkiend! for ever loved, lor ever dear! 

What fruitless tears have bathed thy honor'd bier! 

A\'hat siuhs re-eelio'd to thy partiui;- breath, 

^\■hilst tiiou wast struu-^linj,' in the pan^s of death I 

C'onld tears retard the tyrant in his course; 

Could siu'lis avert his dart's relentless force ; 

Could youth and virtue claim a short delay, 

Or beaiity charm the sjicctre fr(MU his pivy ; 

Thou still haiKt lived to bless my achinir sijrht, 

Thy comrade's honor and thy friend's deUf;'ht. 

If yet thy u'cnlle spirit hover ni^h 

The sjiol where now thy mouldering ashes lie, 

Here will thou read, reeordeil on my heart, 

A <;rief too tleep to trust tlie sculptor's art. 

No marble mai'ks thy couch of lowly sleep, 

i}nt living' statues there are seen to weep; 

Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, 

Affliction's self lU'iilores thy youthful doom. 

What though thy sire lament his failing line, 

A father's sorrows cannot equal mine ! 

Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer. 

Yet other olfspring soothe his anguish here : 



1803. 



HOCUS OF I DICES' ESS. 3/J3 

IJllI, wlio willi 111(5 sliiill liolil Ihy loniici- |il;ic<; ? 
'J'hilic iiiiii;^!', wliiit new rriiii(Ulii|> ciiii I'll'iiccr ? 
All! none! ri riillicf'H Icurs will rcimc Id I1(»\v, 
'rime will iiMsim;,M) iiii inriiiil l)ro||i(M'*H woe; 
To nil, NSivi' one, is ciiiisoliiUoii Uiiowil, 
Wliili! solitary IVieiidsliip wifflist aloac. 



IHO.'J. 



A FltA(;.Mi;NT. 

Wmkn, Io their iiiry hall, iriy IiiMici-h' voice 
Shall call my spiril, joytul in (licir clioicc; 
WIk^m, |ioi,sci| upon llic t,''!ilc, my Conn shall ride, 
()r, ilark in niisi, iIcmccmiI the inonnlain's siilc ; 
Oh! may my mIiikIc lichold no scul|ilnicil nins 
U'o murk I In: spot where I'artli lo i iirlh rcliirns! 
No lentil hcn'il .scriill, no pnrisc-cni'nnihcr'il sU)Uf ; 
Aly cpilapli sh.-ill be my name alone; 
H' f/iiii Willi honoi- I'mII 111 Clown my clay, 
(Jh ! may no ollnrr lame my lU'irds repay ! 
T/i(U, <iiily l/i(il, shall nin;rlc ont lli<; s[Mit; 
liy thai rememlicr'd, or with that forgot. 



ON LKAVINCi NHWSTKAl) AUMKY. 

* Why (lost tlioii liiiilil the liiill. will 111' till! wliiK<'<l diijK? 'I'liiin loolccut from 
Iliy towiT lc)-iliiy. yd a tow y<''il'H, ami llio bluot of tlio iloHort cihik'H, It 
liDWJH 111 Ihy (niipt.v (.(Hirl.."— Osmian. 

Tliuoudii thv liattlcmciit.s, Newslcail, the hollow windn wliistlu; 

'riioii, the liall (if my fathers, art j^orii; to decay: 
In thy once smiling' iriu'dcni, the hoiiiUx-k mn\ thistle- 

Have choked lip the rose which late lilooin'd in the way. 

Of the mail-eovei'd liiirons, who proudly to battle 
I,ed their vassids from JMirope to i'alestiiie's plain, 

The escntchcon iiiid shield, which with every Mast ratllc;, 
Are the only sad vesti;4es now that remain. 

No more doth old Uolicrt, with liarp-Htrin;;in^ mimlKM'.s, 
Jtaise a tlaine in tli<! Iireast for the war-lanreU'd wreath; 

Near Askaloii's towers, John of Iloristan slnmlKtrs; 
Unnerved is tin; hand of his minslrid hy death. 

I'anl and IlnhtM't, too, sleep in the valley oCC'ressy; 

l''or tin; safety of ivlward and ICn;ihind they fell : 
M V lathers! the tears of yniir coiinlrv redress ye; 

llow you foii;,dit, how yon ilied, still lier annals can tell. 

On Miirston, with Ilnnert, V"'"^! traitors eontendin^r,* 
Four lirolhers enrich'd witli their lilood the lileak field; 

For the ri^rlits of a monarch their <'onntry defmidin^c, 
'J'ill death their uttuchment to royally seal'd. 

• Tln' Imltlc of Miirsion Moor, wluTc tho iiillii-iciilH of (,'liarlo8 I. woro <lo- 
fcalcil.— Kiipi'i'l, Hon of ilic Kliiior I'liliilhio, iiiiil iii'|jhi:w tu CtiarlUH I. Hi) 
iiltcrwuriiM uoMiiiiuiiilc'il tlio llt^ct in Ihu ruiKii of CIiui'Icm II. 



344 iiorns of idlexess. 

Shiidcs of liorocs, rarowoll ! your (U>sc('ncl:mt, dopartiug 
From tlie soat of liis aiii'i'stors, bids you ailii'U ! 

Aliroail, or at lioiiic, your rouu'mliranci' iuipaitiiij^ 
New couniji'i', Ih''I1 think ui)oii glory ami you. 

Though a toar dim his eye at this sad separation, 
'Tis nature, not fear, that exeites his regret; 

Far distant he goes, with the same emulation, 
The fame of his fathers he ne'er eau forget. 

That fame, and that memory, still will he cherish; 

] le vows that he ne'er will disgrax-e vour renown : 
liike you will he live, or like you will lie (lerish : 

Wlien deeay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own ! 
1803. " 

LINES 

WRITTEN IN "letters TO AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH 
GENTLEMAN: BV J. J. ROUSSEAU: FOUNDED ON FACTS." 

" Away, :nvii,v. yonr tiatti'riiii; ;irts 
Jliiv now liclriiy sunu' siiniilc liciirts; 
Anil yon will sniiU' lU tUvir lii'lii'viiiK, 
Ami tlioy sliiiU woi'p at your docebdlng." 

ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED TO MISS . 

Dear, sim|)le girl, those tlattering arts. 
From whieh thou'dst guard frail female hearts, 
F\ist hut in imagination — 
Mere |ihantoms of thine own creation; 
For he who views that witching grace, 
That perfect form, that lovely lace, 
AVith eyes adniiring, oli ! helieve mc, 
lie never wishes to deceive thee : 
(•nee in thy polish'd mirror glance, 
Thou'lt there descry that elt'oancc 
AVliieh from our sex dcmanils such pi'ftises, 
Hut envy in the other raises : 
Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, 
Helieve mc, only does his duty : 
Ah ! tly not, from the candid youth; 
It is not llattery — 'tis truth. 
Jtil,/, 1804. 

ADRLiN'S ADDEESS TO IIIS SOUL WHEN DYING.* 

Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite, 
Friend and associate of this clay ! 

To what unknown region borne, 
"Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight? 
No more with wi>nteil humor gay. 

But palliil, cheerless, and forlorn. 

* " Aiiimiiln! vaguin, blandiila, 
llospos I'oinosiino corporis, 
i)wv nunc al)il)is in loca — 
I'allidnla, riuida, nudnla. 
Nee, lit soles, ilabis jocos? " 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 345 



TRANSLATION FKOM CATULLUS. 

AD LESBIAM. 

Equal to Jove that yoiitli must I)C — 
Greater than Jove ht- sceius to inc — 
Who, free I'njiii Jealousy's alrti'ins, 
Securely views tliv matchless charms. 
That (;heek, whieli ever ilimpliuji' f;Iow9, 
That mouth, IVom whence such music tiowt. 
To him, alike, are always known. 
Reserved for liim, and him alone. 
Ah, Lesbia! thoujih 'tis deatli to me, 
I cannot choose hut look on thee ; 
But, at the si;^ht, my senses fly ; 
I needs must yaze, l)ut, j;azing, die; 
Whilst tremhlin;^- with a thousand fears, 
Pareh'd to the throat my tonj^uc adheres. 
My pidse heats cjuick, my i)reath heaves sshort. 
My limbs deny their slij^ht support, 
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread. 
With deadly lan;^uor droops my liead, 
My ears with tinjiiinji' echoes ring, 
And life itself is on the wing; 
My eyes refuse the cheering light. 
Their orl)s are veil'd in starless night: 
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath, 
And feels a temporary death. 



TRANSLATION OF THE EriTAPII ON VIRGIL AND 
TIBULLUS, 

BY DOMITItJS MARSUS. 

He who sublime in epic numbers roll'd, 
And he who struck the softer lyre of love, 

By Death's unequal hand alike controll'd,* 
Fit comrades in Elysian regions move ! 



IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. 

" Siilpicin lul Cerintluim."— X»6. 4. 

Cruel Cerinthus! docs the fell disease 

Which racks my l)rcast your fickle bosom please ? 

Alas ! I wisli'd but to o'ercomc the pain. 

That I might live for love and you again : 

But now 1 scarcely shall bewail my fate ; 

By death alone I can avoid your hate. 

* The hand of Death is said to be unjust or unequal, as Virgil was considerably 
older than Tibullus at his deceusu. 



346 HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 



TKANSLATION FROM CATULLUS. 

Ye Cupicls, droop each little head, 
Nor let your win;;s with joy l)e spread, 
Mv Lesbia's favorite biril is dead, 

Whom dearer than her eyes she loved! 
For he was };e)itlc, and so true, 
Obedient to her call he flew, 
No fear, no wild alarm he knew. 

But lightly o'er her bosom moved : 

And softly iluttcring here and there, 
He never soiij;ht to cleave the air, 
But chirrup'd oft, and, free from care. 

Tuned to her car his grateful strain. 
Now havini,' pass'd the gloomy bourne 
From whence he never can return. 
His death and Lesbia's grief I mourn, 

Who sighs, alas ! but sighs in vain. 

Oh ! curst be thou, devouring grave ! 
Whose jaws eternal victims crave, 
From .whom no earthly power can save, 

For thou hast ta'en "the bird away : 
From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erilow. 
Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow; 
Thou art the cause of all her woe, 

Ilecei)tacle of life's decay. 



IMITATED FROM CATULLUS. 

TO ELLEN. 

On ! might I kiss those eyes of fire, 
A million scarce would quench desire : 
Still would 1 steep my lips in bliss, 
And dwell an age on every kiss : 
Nor then mv soul should sated be , 
Still woidd I kiss and cling to thee : 
Nought should my kiss from thine dissever; 
Still would we kiss, and kiss fur ever; 
E'en though the numbers did exceed 
The yellow harvest's countless seed. 
To part would be a vain endeavor : 
Could I desist .' — ah ! never — never ! 



TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. 

The man of firm and noble soul 
No factious clamors can control ; 
No threat'ning tyrant's darkling brow 

Can swerve him from his just intent: 
Gales the warring waves which plough. 

By Auster on the billows spent. 
To curb the Adriatic m; ^'ii. 
Would awe his fix'd, determined mind in vain. 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 347 

Ay, •Till the rod riLrlit ni'in of Jove, 
Hurtlinji' his liuhtiiiim's IVdiii above, 
With all his ferroi's tliero iinl'iirlM. 

He would, unmoved, unuwcd, behold. 
The flames of an expiring' worlil, 

Aj2:ain in crushinf,'- chaos roll'd, 
In vast promiscuous ruin hurl'd, 
lMi;j:ht lijiht his f^lorious funeral pile : 
Still dauntless 'midst the wreck of earth he'd smile. 



FROM ANACREON. 

I WISH to tunc my r|uiverin;j: lyre 
To deeds of fame and notes of fire ; 
To echo, from its risinfj swell, 
Kow heroes fourrht and nations fell, 
When Atrcus' sons advanced to war, 
Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar; 
But still, to martial strains unknown, 
My h'l'e recurs to love alone : 
FireA with the hope of future fame, 
I seek some nobler hero's name : 
The dj'ing chords are strunjr anew. 
To war, to war, my harp is due : 
With <;io\vin;i' string's, tlic epic strain 
To Jove's <rreat son I raise a;,''ain; 
Alcides and his fi'lorious decils, 
Beneath whose arm the Hydra blceda 
All, all in vain; my wayward lyre 
Wakes silver notes of soft desire. 
Adieu ye chiefs rcnown'd in arms! 
Adieu the clan<;' of war's alarms ! 
To other deeds my soul is strunj^, 
And sweeter notes shall now be sung; 
My harp shall all 'ts powers reveal, 
To tell the talc my heart must feel : 
Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim, 
In sonys of bliss and si^^hs of tlame. 



FROM AXACREOX. 

'TwAS now the liour when Ni<rht had driven 

Her car lialf round yon saljle heaven; 

Bootes, only, seem'd to roll 

His arctic charji'c around the pole: 

While mortals lost in gentle sleep, 

Forjrot to smile, or ceased to weep : 

At this lone hour, the Paphian boy, 

Descend in<,' from the realms of joy, 

Quick to my g'ate directs his course. 

And knocks with all his little force. 

My visions lied, alarm'd I rose — 

" What stranrrer breaks my blest repose ? " 

•' Alas! " replies the wily child. 

In faltering accents sweetly mild. 



S48 iitxits OF ii)i.i:\i:ss. 

" A li!i|>li'ss \\\l':\u\ luTt' 1 n):im, 
Vnv iViiiu iu\- ili'Mi- lualrriml lioiiio. 
Oil! >lii.lil ill.' iVoiii tin- wiiilr.v l)l:ist! 
'I'lir iii^lilly sliinn is jioin'in^' i'lisl , 
Mo in'nwliii;;' roblu'i' liiiji'i'rs luTo ; 
A wiui(K'i'iiii;' l>:il)y who cim four? " 
1 lit'iinl liis si'iMuiu!:- iirlli'ss t!ili>, 
I lit'iinl Ills sin'lis ii|>ou tlu' ;;nlo : 
My l>ri"iist \v!is in>\ IT iiitx's Coo, 
l»iit felt for !ill till- Imln's woo. 
1 (livw iIk' liiir, Mini In llio liiiiit, 
\oiiiiii l.ovo, lilt" iiil'iiiil, iiu't my siifht; 
J lis bow across his sluuiKK'rs lliiiij;', 
Ami tlu'iicf his filial (luivoi- liiini;' 
(Ah! lillK' tlitl I lliiiik llu' dart ' 
U'oiilil raukli' soon williiii luv heart). 
With care I lend m\ wcaiN ^licst, 
His little tiimci's cliill my luvast ; 
His •;ios>y curls, his azure wini;", 
■\\'hich droop with iiii;htly showers, \ wrinjr; 
His shi\ eriiii;' limhs the ciiihers warm; 
And now ri'\i\ ini;' I'rom tlu' storm, 
Scarce had he l\'it his wonted i;Uuv, 
'riian >wil"l he seized his slender lioNv : — 
" I fain would know, my u'l-ntlc host," 
lie lii'iod, " it' this its strength has lost ; 
1 fi>ar, rclax'd with midiiii^ht dews, 
The strings their foi'iner aid refuse." 
AN'itli jioi>oii li|it, his arrow llies, 
Decii 111 m\ torlMied heart' it lies; 
Then loud the joyous urchin hiuuh'd : — 
" My how can still imiiel tlu- shaft : 
"Pis llrmly li\'d, thy siulis re\cal it; 
iSMN, eouileoiis host, canst thou not t'eel it ?" 



FuoM Till". ri;oMi:riiKiis viNt-rrs of .ksouvlus 

(JUKA'r .love, to wluxe almiijlity throiio 

Both yods and mortals homage i>iiy, 
>Je'er niav niv >oiil th\' imwers disown, 

Thy dread lu'hests ne'er disohey. 
Oft siiall the sacred victim fall 
111 sea-^irl Ocean's mossy hall; 
'My voice shall raise no iiii|iious strain 
'Oiiiiisi him who rules the sky and azure iiuiin. 

How ditVcrtMil now thy. joyless fate, 

Since lirst llesione thy lu'ide, 
^\'hen j'laced. aloft in i;odlike state, 
'I'he hlusliiiii;- beauty hy thy side. 
Thou sai'si, while reverend Ocean smiled, 
And mirtht'ul strains the hours hciiuilcd. 
The Nyiniihs and Tritons danced around. 
Nor yet thy doom was tiv'd, nor, love relentless frown'd, 
llAUUOvv, Ihr. 1, ItSO-t. 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 34f> 



TO EMISFA. 

BiNCP: now the lioni' is (•(unc iil Inst, 

Wlicii yi)u iiiiisl (jiiii your ;iii\ioiis lovcr; 

8inc(! now our iliciun oi' bliss is |iiist, 
UiH'. |)!iii;;', my ^^irl, ;uiil all is over. 

Alas! that i)iiiiff will ho sc'vcrc, 

VViiicli hids lis iiart. to iiici'l no more; 

Which tears me lar iVoni one so dear, 
JJcparlin;;' lor a ilislani shore. 

Well! we have passM some hai)|iy hours, 
Ami jov will minjile with our lears, 

When thinkinj,'' on these ancient towers, 
The shelter of onr inl'iint years; 

Where, from this (lolhii' ciisement's height, 
We vicwM the lake, llie park, (he dell; 

And still, ihonjih tears ohslriict onr siji-ht, 
VVo linyerin^;' look a last I'arewell, 

O'er fielils throntzh which we used to run. 
And spend tin; hours in childish play; 

O'er shades where, wiien onr ra<'e was don0f 
Kc'posinj;' on my hrcast yon lay; 

Whilst I, adinirinj,'', too remiss, 
For;;(»l to si'ari; the hoverin;^ flics, 

Yet cnvicid eveiy lly the kiss 

It dared to yive jonr slnmherinii' eyes: 

Sec Htill the liltle nainted hark, 
In which I row'il you o'er the lake; 

8co there, hijih waving' o'er tin; )iark, 
The elm I elamijcr'd lor your sake. 

These times are past — onr joys are i.rono, 
You leave me, lcav(^ this happy vale; 

These sccni's I must letraee alone: 
Without thee, what will they avail ? 

Who can conceive, who lias not |)roveil, 
'1'\h] aii;i'nish of a last embrace!, 

When, lorn from all yon fondly loved, 
You hid a lon^^ adieu to peace ? 

This is the deepest, of our woes, 

l<'oi' this these tears our cheeks bcdeW| 

This is of lov<> the linal .'lose, 
O (iod! the fondest, last adieu! 



TO M. S. 0. 

Wiiene'eu I view those lips of thiuo, 
Their line invites my fervent kiss; 

Y^et I fore;4'o that hiiss di\ iiic, 
Alas ! it were iinliallow'd bliss. 



350 nouns or ini.i:xi:ss. 

Wliono'cr 1 ih-i';iiii of thnt \mvc breast, 
How could 1 dwell ui>ou ils snows! 

Yet is tho dmiiiL;' wish ri'|iri'-it ; 
For that — w ould l>;uiisli ils roposo. 

A glance from thv soiil-soarohiiiij oyo 
Can raiso with \\o\k\ depross witli leu;'; 

Yd I I'oiK-i'al my lo\ o —and why ? 
1 would uot Tori'o a painrul tear. 

I ucVr have told my lovo, yet thou 
Hast seen my anient tlame too well; 

And shall I plead my passion now, 
To make tliy bosom s heaven a hell ? 

No ! for thou never eanst ho mine, 

I'nited by the priest's deeree : 
By any ties* but those divine, 
"Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shall bo. 

Then let the soerot fire eonsnme, 

Let it eonsume, thou shall not know; 

With jov I eourt a eertain doom, 
Katiier than spreatl its yuilty gtow. 

I will not ease my tortured heart, 

liy tlriviui; dove-eyed peace iVoni thine;" 

Hatiier lliau such a stinu' imi>arl, 

Eaeh thouyhl presumptuous I ix'sijju. 

Yi's ! vield thos.' lips, for whieh I'd bravc 
More than 1 here shall dare to ti'U; 

Thy inuoeeuee and mine to save — 
r hid thee now a last farewell. 

Yes ! vield thai breast, to seek desjiair, 
Anil ho|H' no more a foi\d embrace ; 

\Vhieh to obtain my soul would dare 
All, all repivaeh— but thy disgraee. 

At least from <i-nilt thou shall be free, 
\o matron shall thy shame reprove; 

Thouii'b cureless pan^s may prey on mo, 
No marlvr slialt thou be to love. 



TO CA1U)1.1XE. 

Tiiixiv'ST thou I sa\v thv beauteous eyes, 
8iitVused in tears, impVuv to stay, 

And heard unmox ed thy plenteous sighs. 
Which said far more than words can sayt 

Thonarh keen tl»o priof thy tcai-s oxpivst, 
AVhou love and hope lay both o'crthrowTi; 

Yet still, my t^irl, this blc'cdiuj;- breast 
Throbb'd with deej> sorrow as thine owu. 



lloritS OF IDLKXESS. 

But wlicii niir rliccks willi ;in;,''iiis|i hI,,\vM. 

Wlici. Miv swcci lips were joiiiM |7, mine, 
lli(! Iciirs tliiil Croiii iiiv cvcliils (Idw'd 

Wert; lost ill |li„s(, whirh Irjl IV..111 tluiu;. 

Thou coiildsl iif)f, I'ccl my liiiniiii;^' clirck, 
Tliy ^riisliiuM. |,.,i,.s |,„,'| ,|ia.n(l/,| i(s iJainc; 

And us lliy t()li;;iio cssiiy'd to spciik, 
in si^^liH iilono it In-cuilied my iiiune. 

And yot, my i/n-], wo woop in v.'ii,. 

In vain our fiito in .si^hs deplore; 
Ki:mend)riiiicc only can remain — 

IJnt llial will make us wuep tiie more. 

Attain, thou host huJovcxl, adieu! 

Ah! ir IJion canst, o'ercomc re;iTct; 
iNor let thy mmd past joys review— 

Our only hope is to i'oi-^ret ! 



3.01 



TO CAIJOMNE. 

WliKN I hcnryou express an ain-etion so warm, 
N.MTlhink, rnvhehn , i|,a( I .lo not l.<.lievc'; 

I'or y,„n- hp would Ihe soul of suspicion disarm, 
An<l your eye luums a ray wlii(rh can never tieceive. 

Yet. slilj, lids (ond i)osom re-rets, while ado^n'^ 
Ihat love d«. Ih,. leaf, must fall into the svaiv; 

liiata-., ,v,l come on, when renuwnhran.v, dc^plorinfT, 
Contemplates the scenes ol' heryoulh will, a 'ear; 

That the time must arrive, when, no Ion^,.r relaininir 

VV), .'■"■ r" '"'■','' ^'",'^'^^.1"''1<-^ "i"«t wave, thin lo th.. hreeze, 
Wh.m a few sdver luurs of those tresses remaining. ' 
1 rove nature a prey to decay and disease. 

'^Tho,!";i,T '":'"^7'' 7''!'-'' ^^W^.^^^^ J,'l«om o-cr my features, 

h< u^h ne er shall presume to arrai-u the decree, 
Wln.'h (...d h;:s proclannM as the fate of His creatures 
Ju the death wliieli oui^ .lay will deprive you of me. ' 

Mistake not, sweet scepli.-, Ih,; .•a„se of emotion, 
Mo douht can Ihemin.l of your lover invade- 

Jie worships each look with such faiildiil d.volion 
A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade. ' 

But as death, niy helovcd, soon or lide shall o'crlako ns 
An.Uur hreasis, which alive will, su.-h svmpalhy f^Iow, 

w. "■'' u- "'" F''''' "" ""' '''"■•*' ^1'"" 'iw--'l<^ NS, ' 

When callin^r the dead, in earth's hosom laid low,— 

^^ Wl!l,''i!'r,!'' '" '''■'■•'"• r,'"'*' '"■ •"'^>'' '"'■'^"^^•"^ of pleasure, 
\V hiel, Iron. pass.,,., like oiiivs may um^easin^rly How ■ 

Ind l.uaVV;""' "r "."'' "'■ '"^'"'^ '•"■^^ '" ''"Jl '"^.asurc, 
1805 ' ''''""^'"'''' ''^ "'"■ "^■'^l^»' I'^iow. 



352 HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 



x'O CAROLINE. 

Oh ! when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrows ? 

Oh ! when shall my soul wing ner flight from this clay ? 
The present is hell, ami the coming to-morrow 

But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day. 

I'rom mv eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no curses, 
I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss, 

For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses 
Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this. 

Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning. 
Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage, 

On om' foes' shoidd my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, 
With transport my tongue give a loose to its rage. 

But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, 
Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight : 

Could they view ns our sad separation bewailing, 
Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. 

Yet still, though we bend Avith a feign'd resignation, 
Life beams not foi- us with one ray that can cheer, 

Love and hope upon earth bring no mofe"consolation ; 
In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. 

Oh ! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place me, 
Since in life, love and friendship for ever are fled ? 

If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee. 
Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead. 

1805. 



STANZAS TO A LADY, 

WITH THE POEMS CF CAMOENS. 

This votive pledge of fond esteem. 

Perhaps, dear girl ! for me thou'lt prize ; 

It sings of Love's enchanting di-eam, 
A theme we never can despise. 

Wlio blames it but the envious fool, 
The did and disappciintcd maid; 

Or pnjiil of the jirudish school, 
In single sorrow dooni'd to fade ? 

Then read, dear girl ! with fechng read, 
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those ; 

To thee in vain I shall not plead 
In pity for the poet's woes. 

He was in sooth a genuine bard : 
His was no vain, fictitious flame : 

Like his, may love be thy reward, 
But not thy hapless fate the same. 



HOURS ChF IDLENESS. 85i 



THE FIRST KISS OF LOVE, 

'A Biipj3iT0f !?£ ^op^aT; 

'Epwra jxovvov ^;^£i. — An'ACREOn. 

iWAY with your fictions of flimsy romauce ; 

Those tissues of falsehood which folly has wove! 
Give mc the mild beam of the soul-hreathing glance, 
Or the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love. 

Ye rhymers, whose bosoms with fantasy irlow, 
Whose i>astoral passions are made for the j,a-ove; 

From what blest inspirations j-our sonnets would flow, 
Could you ever have tasted the first kiss of love! 

If Apollo should e'er his assistance refuse, 

Or the Nine be disposed from your service to rove, 

Invoke them no more, bid adieu to the muse. 
And try the eflect of the first kiss of love ! 

I hate you, j^e cold compositions of art ! 

Thouuh prudes may condemn mc, and biijots reprove, 
I court tlic cirusioiis that spring from the heart, 

Which throbs with delight to the first kiss of love. 

Your shepherds, your flocks, those fantastical themes. 
Perhaps UK13' amuse, yet they never can move; 

Arcadia displays but a region of dreams : 

What are visions like these to the first kiss of love ? 

Oh ! cease to affirm that man, since his birth. 
From Adam till now, has with wretchedness strove. 

Some portion of paradise still is on earth. 
And Eden revives in the first kiss of love. 

When age chills the l)lood, when our pleasures arc past— 
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove — 

The dearest remembrance will still be the last. 
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love. 



OX A CILiXGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT PUBLIC 
SCHOOL. 

Where arc those honors, Ida ! once your own. 
When Proljus fill'd your magisterial throne ? 
As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, 
Hail'd a Ixirbarian in her Caesar's place, 
So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, 
And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate. 
Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, 
Pomposus holds you in his harsh control ; 
Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, 
W^ith florid jargon, and with vain parade ; 
With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules. 
Such as were ne'er liefore enforcetl in schools; 
Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws, 
He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause ; 
23 



354 II OCRS OF WLESESS. 

With him tho same dire fate attoiuliii^ Rome, 
lll-falt'il Ilia ! soon must stamp your lUxim : 
I.iUo lioi- o'orthrown, for i-vor lost to fame, 
No ti-acc ol" scicuce left you, but the mvaic. 
July, ISO*"). 

TO THE DUKE OF DORSET.* 

Dorset! whose eai'ly steps with mine have stmy'd, 
E\|>loriiiu' every jxith of Itla's jjlade; 
\\'lu>u! still alU'cliou tauuht me to ilefeml. 
Ami made me less a tyrant than a frieu.l. 
Though the hai-sh eustom of our j-oiithful ban 
Itade t/itr obey, and L;;ive we to eouinianil; t 
Thee, on whose head a few slioi-t years will shower 
The >;ift of riches, and the pride of power; 
E'en now a name illustrious is thine own, 
llenown'd in rank, not far beneatli the throne. 
Yet, Dorset, let not this sednee thy sold 
To shun fair seienee, or evade eontrol, 
Thonuh passive tutors, fearftd to disprr.ise J 
The titled ehild, whose t'uture breath may raise, 
A'iew ducal errors with indnluent eju's. 
And w ink at 1aidt> lliey tremiile to eliastisc. 

When youlln'al parasites, who bend the kucc 
To weahh, their li'old en idol, not to thee — 
Anil even in simjile boyhood's ojieninji' dawn 
Some slaves are fouinl to tlatter and to fawn — 
When these declare, " that pomp alone shoidil wait 
C)ii one bv birth predestineil to be <^reat ; 
That books were only meant f>>r drnduinir fools, 
That gallant sjiirits scorn the common rules;" 
Believe them not;— they point the path to sliamc. 
And seek to lilast the honors of thy name. 
Turn to the few in Ida's early thronu', 
Whose soids ilisdain not to condemn the wrong; 
Or it, amidst the comrades of thy youth, 
None dare to raise the sterner voice of truth, 
Ask thine own heart ; 'twill bid thee, Inn", forbear; 
For «'(•// 1 know that virtue linj;ers there. 

Yes! I have mark'il thee many a iiassing- day, 
I?ut now new scenes invite me far away ; 
Yes! I have mark'd within that yenerous mind 
A soul, if well matured, to bless mankind. 

• In lookini; o\or my pjiiiors to select a few ndditit^nal poems for tliis second 
edition, I louiiil the ahove lines, wliieli I liml totally toriroiten, composed in llio 
sununer of KStCi. a short time previous to my ilepartiire from Harrow. They 
were addressed to a yonnjr schooUellow of liiyii rank, who hail Ihhmi my frequent 
companion in some rambles throa.i.'li the nei.i;iiliorinK country : liowevei-. he iievcr 
saw the lines, and most p"oli:dily never will. As, on a re-perusal, I found them 
not worse than some other pieces mi the collection, I have now published them 
for the first time, after a slii:lit revision. 

t At every public school the junior lioys are completely subservient to the 
upper t'orms till tliey attain a seat in tlic liijilier classes. From this state of pro- 
bation, very properly, no rank is exempt, but after a certain period tticy com- 
mand in turn those who succeed. 

X .\llow me to disclaim any personal allusions, even the most distant: I 
nien>ly mention geiierall.\- what Is too olleii Uic wciikness of pivceptors. 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 355 

Ah! Ilioujrli myself, hy nutiirc himtzlity, wild, 
Whom IiuliscTclioii hail'il lior fiivorilc chihl : 
Thoujih evciy orror stamps 1110 for hor own, 
And dooms my fall, I fain would fall alone; 
Thon^'h my )ir()ud heart no precept now can tame, 
I love the virtues which I cannol claim. 

'Tis not enoni^h, willi other sons of jiowcr, 
To j;leam I he lamht'nt meteor of an hour; 
To swell some ))eeraire i>ai;e in feeble jjiide, 
With lon^-th'awn names iliat jirace no \ni<ie besule; 
Then share with titled crowds tiie common lot — 
In life jnst j^a/ed at, in the <rrave forjiot : 
While noii;^lit divicU's liiee from the vnl^ar dead. 
Except the (hill cold stone that hides thy head, 
Tlie monlderinT 'scutcheon, or the herald's roll. 
That well-emhiazon'd hut nej^lected scroll, 
Where loi'tls, iinhonoi-'d, in the tond) may find 
One spot, to leave a worthless name behind. 
There sleep, nnnotieed as the j^loomy vanlts 
That veil tlu'ir dust, their follies, and their faults, 
A race, with old armorial lists o'erspread. 
In records destini'd ]ie\er to be read. 
Fain would I view thee, with prophetic eyes, 
Exalted more amon^' the ji'ood and wise, 
A glorious and a lonu' careei' pursue, 
As fu'st in rank, the lirst in tali'nt loo: 
Spurn every vice, eaeli little meaniu'ss shun; 
Not Fortune's minion, hul her noblest son. 

Turn to the annals of a former day; 
Bri;:;ht are the deeds thine earlier sires display. 
One, though a courtier, lived a man of worth. 
And caH'tl, proud boast! the British dranui I'orlh. 
Another view, not less ri'nown'd for wit; 
Alike for courts, and cani|is, or senati's fit; 
Bolil in the tield, and lavor'd by the \ine; 
In every splendid part ordain'd to shine; 
Far, far dislin^ruisird from the ^lilterin^' throng, 
The pride of princes, and the boa.st of son<;'. 
Siieh were thy fathers; thus preserve their name; 
Not heir to titles oidy, but to fame. 
The hour draws nij;h, a few bi'ii'f days will close, 
To me, this little scene of joys and woes; 
Each knell of Time now warns me to resij^n 
Shailes where Hope, Peace, and Friendship all were mine : 
Hope, that could vary like the rainbow's hue. 
And ;iild their pinions as the moments Hew; 
Peace, that relh'ction never frown'd away. 
By dreams of ill to cIoikI some future tlay ; 
Friendship, whose truth let childhood only tell; 
Alas! they love not lonj,'', who love so well. 
To tliese adieu ! nor let in(^ lin^i'er o'er 
Scenes hail'd, as exiles hail thinr native shore, 
Reecdin<r slowly throu;;h the dark-blue deep. 
Beheld by eyes that mourn, yet cannot weep. 

Dorset, farewell I I will not ask one jiart 
Of sail rcmembrauee in so younj^ a heart; 



•^;,(; iiorns OF ii>i.i:\i:ss. 

'I'ln' I'limiui^- iiiiiniiw iVum lliv voiillil'ul lulinl 
Will swoi'ji my luinn', nor Iciivr ii triici' lu'liiiul. 
Ami vrl, |H'ilm|is, in smnc niiilnrcr vfiir, 
.Since I'liimi'i' Ims thrown lis in liic scirsiinu' sphoro, 
iSincc (In- siinu" scniilf, iiiiy, llio snnu' lU-liiiU', 
Aliiy one iliiy cliiiin our snllVii;;i' lor Ilic slittc, 
\\'i" lii'iii'i' iniiy nu'ct, iind puss cm'li ollu'r iiy, 
■NVilli I'Minl ri'i^iirti, or I'uiil iiiui ilisiunt cyf. 
l'"or \m\ in riitiirc, iu>illit'r rri<'iiil nor foi', 
A slrinmi'i- to lliysi'll', lliy wi-iii or woe, 
With thee no more iij^iiin I hope to triico 
Till- recollection 111' our curl v ritct> ; 
No more, as once, in social lioiirs rejoice, 
Or heiir, unless in erowils, thy well-known voii'i> : 
Still, if the \visli(<s ot' a heart iiiiliiur;lil 
To veil those feelinj;s which pereh:inci' A oni^ht. 
It" these hill let me I'case the leii-lhen'.l strain- 
Oil I il thi'se wished are not hreathotl in viiin, 
The f^nariliim senipli who tliroMs thy fate 
Will leave thee {.'lorious, as he I'omiil thee fXVCAt. 



ISO:. 



n!A(;MKNl\ - 

WUITTISN SlIOKI'l.V Airi^U TWV, M \I£IM \(il'; OT MISS <llA\V01l'l'll. 

IllLlsof \unrsle\ ' lileaU iiiiil harri'ii, 
\\ here luy Ihonivlil less ehildhooil striiy'il, 

IliMY llie uorlherii lriu|iests, \\ arrili;;', 
Howl :il.o\e th\ lul'leil ^h;llle ! 

Now no more, the hours hej;iiiliii>r, 

l'\irmer I'avorile haunts 1 sec; 
Now iio more my Mary siiiilin;;' 
Make^ _\ e seem a liea\en to iui>, 
ISDO. 



CUAN I'A : A Mi:iil.i;V. 
Apyvpiiiif Xoy^mai /i«;^oii km! mivTii KpaTi'iaatf, 

Oil ! could I,c Safe's demon j^ift * 

lie reali/eil at in\' desire. 
This nij;lit my trcinhliiiM- form he'd lilY 

To place il on St. Mary's >pire. 

Then would, uuroot'd, ohl (iranta's halls 

I'edanlie iiuuales full display; 
Fellows w ho ilream on lawn or stalls, 

The prici> of venal votes t<i pay. 

Then would I view cai'h rival wii;lit, 

I'elly and ralmerslou sur\ ey ; 
^\'ho canvass there with all their n\iu'ht 

Aji'iiinsl the next eh-ctivc day. 

* Tlio DInMo Uolti'iix kI' I.o Siinc wticrc AhiiuuIous, llio tlonion, pliircs JVin 
ClitolHs on III! i>l«viiittil iiKuulUai, aiul uiiiMnl'st iludiousus l^r liispuutloii. 



IIOI'KS OF iniJ'lXESS. ;5r,7 

Lo ! chiiiIJiImIi'S uikI voIci'H li(! 

All liill'il ill s!cc|), II trooilly niiiiilxT: 
A riK'i' I'ciiowiiM lor pifly, 

WliDhc (.'oiisciiMift; won't (iistiirl) llifir hliiinber. 

Lord II , iiidec'il, niiiy not ilcnuir; 

l-'cjlows art; wiijri; rcllcctin;^ inc'ii; 
Tlicy know iPi-cCcrincnt ciin occur 

JJi'il vei'y Hcldoni— now iind tli(;n. 

They know llic ('liiinccllor Iiiim jjot, 

iSonic pi'clty liviii^h in diN))o>-iil : 
Klicji liopcs tiiiit one iiiiiy he Ids lot, 

Anil tlii'i'ci'oi'c MMiilcs on his j>ro|)osiil. 

Now from the soporific scene 

I'll (inn liiiiic eye, :is iii^^ht throws later, 

To view, iiiiheeilcd iuid unseen, 
The Hludiiiiis sons ol' Alniii Maler. 

There, in iipiirtinenlH sinidl and damp, 

The eandidate for college prizes 
bits poring' \)y the inidni;jlit lamp; 

(iocs laic to lied, yet early I'ises. 

lie surely well deserves (o^siin lliein, 

With all the honors of his colle;;e, 
Who, striviii^i hardly to ohiain llieni, 

'J'iiiiM seeks iinproiilahli; knowledge; 

Wlio sacrifices hoin's of I'cst 

'I'o scan precis(dy inelrcs Attic; 
Or agitiiles ids anxious hreast 

In solving prohlenis mathcniiitie : 

Who reads false (piaiitities in Scale,* 

Or pil/./lcs o'er liie deep tiiaii;^'le ; 
Deprivi'd of iimiiy a whoic^oiiie meal; 

ill harharous Latin dooiii'd to wrangle ;t' 

Ilenoiincing livv.ry phrasing |Mige 

From anthoi's of historic use; 
Prefei'riiig to the lelter'd sagi! 

'\'\\i: sipiare of the hyjiollK-'niisct 

Still, liiirinl(!ss are these occupations, 
'I'liat, hurt none hut tin; haph-ss student, 

Compared with other reeicalions, 

Wnich Iniiig togetli(;r the imprudent; 

Whose dai'ing i-evels uliock the sight. 

When vic(! and infamy comhiiK;, 
When drunkenness and dicir invite;. 

Am eveiy heiise is sleep'd in wine. 

• Soalo'H pitl)li(;iitl»M oil (ir('i-l< Mi'trcH iII^iiI.i.vh consldfiriililo talonl mid Iri- 
);i'iiiiity. Iiiit. HH iiiJKlit l)i;(;x|>i'i;i(;il 111 ho (lilttciilt ii wiirl<. In not roiimrliulili; (nr 
MciMirai-v. 

t Tlir' l.iillii <if tlic hcIkioIk In <iC tlic rnnlni' niit-rlen, anil iiol very fiitclllKH'l''- 
X 'I'hc (llHcoscTy 1)1' I'ylliiit'oniK, Hint llii' Hi|iiiiii' oC tlu' liypollieiiUHe Is cijuul to 
llic hijiiarix ol ihr^ oilier two (tlUuit uf a rlKlit-uiiKlfd trIuiiKlc. 



35>* nouns of idlexess. 

^ot so the uiethodistic crew, 
Who iiliins of reformation lay ; 

In hunil)le ;ittitudc they sue, 
And for the sins of others pray: 

Foru'cttinjj: that tlicir pride of spirit, 

Their evidtatiou in their trial, 
Octraets most laruely from the merit 

Of all their boa^tc'd self-denial. 

'Tis morn :— from these I turn my si<i-ht. 

What scene is this which meets the eye ? 
A numerous crowd, array'd in white, 

Across the i,'reeu in numbers fly. 

Loud vw^s in air the chapel bell ; 

'Tis hush'd: — wliat sounds arc these I hear? 
The organ's soft celestial swell 

Kolls deeply on the list'ning ear. 

To this is joiu'd the sacred song. 

The royal minstrel's hallow'd strain; 

Though iie who hears the musuTlong 
Will never wish to hear again. 

Our choir would scarcely be excused, 
Even as a band of raw beginners ; 

All mercy now must be refused 
To such a set of croalcing sinners. 

If David when his toils were ended. 

Had heard these l)locklieads sing before him, 

To us his ])salnis had ne'er ilesceniled — 
In furious mood he would have tore 'cm. 

The luckless Israelites, when taken 
By some inhunum tj'rant's order. 

Were asked to sing, by joy forsakeu, 
On Babylonian river's border. 

Oh ! had they sung in notes like these, 

Inspired l)y stratagem or fear, 
Thej' might have set their hearts at ease, 

Tiie devil a soul had stay'd to hear. 

3ut if I scribble longer now, 
The deuce a soul will stay to read : 

Jkly pen is blunt, my ink is low ; 
'Tis almost time to stop, indeed. 

Therefore, farewell, old Granta's spires : 

No more, like Cleofas, I fly : 
No more thy theme my muse inspires : 

The reader 's tired, and so am I. 
1806. 



IlOmS OF IDLEXESS. 359 

ON A DISTANT ^'"rE^V OF THE VILLAGE AND SCHOOL 
OF IIARROW-ON-THE-IIILL. 

" Oh ! milii pnvteritos rctlTat si Jupiter aniios." — Vri;ciL. 

Ye scenes of my cliildliood, whose loved recollection 
Euihittcrs the pi-esi-iit, conqjaivd with tlio pjist; 

Wliei't' seienee first ihiwii'd 011 the powers of reflection, 
And friendships were fonii'd, too ronnintic to last; 

"Where fancy yet joys to trace the i-cscmhlance 
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied, 

How welcome to me your ne'er-fading rcscmhlance, 
\Vhieh rests in the bosom, though hope is denied! 

Again I revisit the hiils where we sported, 

The streams where we swam, and the fields where wc fought; 
The school where, loud warn'd by the bell, we resorted, 

To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught. 

Again I behold where for hours I have ponder'd. 
As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay ; 

Or round the steep brow of the churchyard Twander'd, 
To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray. 

I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded, 
"Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo o'crtlirown ; 

"While, to swell my yotmg pride, such applauses iX'souuded, 
I fancied that Mossop himself v.as outshone.* 

Or, as Lear, I pour'd forth the deep imprecation, 
By my daughters of kingdom and reason deprived; 

Till, fired by loud plaudits and sclf-adulatiou, 
I regarded myself as a Garrick revived. 

Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much T regret you! 

Unladed your memory dwells in my breast; 
Though sad and deserted, I ne'er can forget you ; 

Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest. 

To Ida full oft may reraemhi-ance restore me, 
While fate shall the shatles of the future unroll ! 

Since darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me, 
JMore dear is the beam of the past to my soul. 

But if, through the course of the years which await me. 
Some new scene of pleasure sliould open to view, 

I will sav, while with rapture tlu' thought shall elate me, 
" Oh ! such were the davs which my infancy knew ! " 
1806. 



TO M- 



OiT ! did those eyes, instead of fire. 

With bright but mild atfec'tion shine, 
Though they might kindle less desire. 

Love, more than mortal, would be thine. 

Mossop, a contemjiorary of Garrick, famous for liis performance of Zang 



3G0 HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 

For thou art formM so heavenly fair, 
Howe'er those orhs may wildly beam, 

We must admire, but stili despair; 
That fatal ylance forbids esteem. 

"When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth, 
So much perfection in thee shone, 

She fear'd that, too divine for earth, 
The skies might claim thee for their own : 

Therefore, to guard her dearest work, 
Lest angels might dispute the prize, 

She bade a secret lightning lurk 
Within those oucc celestial eyes. 

These might the boldest sylph appall, 
When gleaming with meridian blaze: 

Thy beauty must enrajiture all; 

But who can dare thine ardent gaze ? 

'Tis said that Berenice's hair 
In stars adorns the vault of heaven; 

But they would ne'er permit thee there, 
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. 

For did those eyes as planets roll. 

Thy sistcr-lig-hts would scarce appear : 

E'en suns, which systems now conti'ol. 

Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.* 

1806. 



TO WOMAN. 

Woman ! expci-ience might have told me, 

That all must love thee who behold thee ; 

Surely experience might liave taught 

Thy firmest promises are nought: 

But, placed in all thy charms before me, 

Al! I forget, but lo adore thee. 

O Memory ! thou choicest blessing 

When join'd with liope, when still possessing; 

But how much cursed by every lover 

When hope is fled, and passion 's over. 

Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, 

How fond arc .striplings to believe her ! 

How throbs the pulse when first we view 

The eye tliat rolls in glossy blue, 

Or sparkles lilack, oi" mildiy throws 

A beam from under hazel brows ! 

How quick we credit every oath, 

And hear her plight the willing troth ! 

Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye. 

When lo ! she changes in a day. 

This record will for ever stand, 

" Woman! thy vows are traced in sand."t 

» " Two nf the fiiircst stars in all the lipaven. 
Having' .somi/ luisiiifss, do (/iitri.'at lier eves, 
To tw iiikli- in Ihi-ir sphen-s till they retnrn."— Shakspeare. 
t This line is almost a literal translation from .a Spanish proverb. 



HOURS OF I DL EX ESS. 

TO M. S. G. 

WnEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely for"-ive- 

±:.xtciKl not your anger to sleep ; 
For in visions alone your affection can live— 

I rise, and it leaves me to weep. 

Then, ISIoi-pheus ! envelop mv faculties fast, 

.Shed o'er nic your ]an<2-uor"l)eui<,'-n; 
Slioukl the di-cam of to-nin-ht Init Resemble the last, 

VV luit rapture Celestial is mine ! 

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, 

Moitality's emblem is jyiven : 
^° JM°. I'P'v I ^onjr to resijjn my frail breath, 

it this be a foretaste of heaven ! 

Ah ! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow. 

Nor deem me too happy in this ; 
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now, 

Thus doom VI but to yaze upon Ijliss. 

Thou.crh in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile, 
■nn, \ ""^ ^^y penance deficient ! 

When dreams of your presence my slumbers bcouile 
To awake will be torture sufficient. ° ' 



361 



TO MARY, 

ox KECEIVING HER PICTURE. 

This faint rcsemlilancc of thy charms, 
Thouu-Ii stronji- as mortal art could Jive, 

My constant heart of fear disarms. 
Revives nij- hopes, and bids me live. 

Here I can trace the locks of <iok\ 

Which round thy snowy foreliead wave. 
The cheek which spriinji: from iieauty's mould. 

The hps which made me beauty's slave. 
Here I can trace— ab, no ! that eye, 

Whose azure floats in liquid fire, 
Must all the painter's art defy. 

And Iu(.l him from the task" retire. 

Here I behold its beauteous hue ; 

But where 's the beam so sweetly sti-ayinff. 
Which gave a lustre to its blue, 

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing ? 

Sweet copy ! far more dear to me, 

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art. 
Than all tlie living forms could be, 

Save her Avho placed thee next my heart. 
She placed it, sad, witli needless fear. 

Lest time might shake my wavering souL 
Unconscious that her image there 

Held every sense in fast control. 



362 IIOl'RS OF JDLEXESS. 

Tliroiii;'li hours, Uiroug-li years, tliroug-h time, 
'Iwill clu'or; 

My hopo, ill ;;loomy moments, raise; 
In liVo's lust conllict 'twill ajipoar. 

And meet my I'onil expiring- gaze. 



TO LESBIA. 

Lestsia! sinec far from yon I've ranged, 
Our soids with tond affection glow not; 

You say 'tis 1, not you, ha\e changed, 
I'd tell you why,' but yet 1 know not. 

Yom- polish'd brow no cares have erost; 

And, Leshi;i! we are not much older 
Since, tri'uihling, first my heart 1 lost, 

Or told my love, with hope grown bolder. 

Sixteen was then our utmost age, 

Two years have lingering pass'cljvxvay, love I 
And now new thoughts our minds engage, 

At least 1 feel disjiosed to stray, love! 

'Tis I that am alone to blame, 
1 that am guilty of love's treason; 

Since your sweet breast is still the same, 
Caprice must be my only reason. 

I do not, love ! suspect your truth, 

^\'ith jealous doubt uiy bosom heaves not; 

■\Varui was the ]iassion of my youth, 
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not. 

No, no, mv flame was not pretended ; 

For, oh 1 I loved you most sincerelv ; 
And — though our dream at last is encled — 

My bosom still esteems you dearly. 

No more we meet in j'ondcr bowers ; 

Absence has made mo prone to roving ! 
Bnt older, iirnier hearts than ours 

Have found monotony in loving. 

Your check's soft bloom is nnimpair'd, 
New beauties still are daily bright'ning, 

Yo\ir eye for con(piest beams prepared, 
The "forge of love's resistless lightning. 

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed, 
Many will throng to sigh like me, love! 

More constant they may prove, indeed; 
Ponder, alas ! tliey ne'er can be, love ! 



HOURS OF JDLEXESS. 3(53 



LINES ADDllESSED TO A YOUNG LADY, 

WHO ILVD nKEN AI^AUMED 7iY A nUT.LET riRED BY THE AUTHOR 
WHILE niSCIIAUGINCi HIS I'ISTOLS IN A OAKDEN. 

DouRTi.ESS, swept iiirl ! tlio llissiIl^• load, 
M'al'lin;.'' ik'sdiiclioii o'er tliy cliarins, 

And liiii'tlin;.'-* o'rr tliy lovely iicad, 
lias iill'd that lucasl with ioiid alarms. 

Surely snnio envious demon's force, 

\'e\M to heholil such beauty here, 
Impeird the liullet's \ iewless (•oursc, 

Diverted IVom its first earecr. 

Yes! in that nearly fatal liour 

'i'lie hall oliey'd some hell-l)orn <j:uide; 

But Heaven, with inler]M)sin^' power, 
In [lity turn'd ihv death aside. 

Y'ct, as perehane(^ one tremhlint,'' tear 

Upon liiat lin-iiliiiL;- hosoni fell. 
Which I, the unconscious cause of fear, 

Extracted from itsg']isteuiii<j;' cell: 

Sav, what dire penance can atone 

l^or such an outra-ic done to thee ? 
Arrai^iii'd licfoie thy heauty's throne. 

What ])unishmenl will thou decree ? 

Miyht I pei'form the judjze's part. 
The sentence I should scarce deplore; 

It oidy would restore a heart 

Which hut belong'd to thee before. 

The least atonement I can make 

Is to become no longer free; 
Henceforth I invathe hut for thy sake, 

Thou shalt i)e all in all to me. 

But thou, perhaps, niay'st now reject 

Such e\))iation of my ijuilt : 
Come, then, some other mode elect; 

Let it lie death, or what thou wilt. 

Choose, then, relentless ! and I swear 
Noufi'ht shall thy dread decree prevent; 

Yet hold — one little word forbear! 
Let it be aught but banishment. 

* This word is used by (Iraj-, in Iiis poem to tlic Fatal Sisters*— 
" Iron sleet ot arrowy shower 
Hurtles tlirouyli the ilurlteiied air." 



.".CI 



not US OF lULESESS. 



LOVr/S T.AST ADIF.IT. 

Mil, (V ,! n f,i fivyn. — Anac1!I:i)N. 

'I'llK roses (if lovr -ImiI llic -iirdcii of life, 

'rhi)UL;li niii'luri'il 'iiiiti wccils ilr(>i'|MiiL; |)i'sl llciil, ik'W, 

'I'iU liinr c'i'iiiH llic Icmncs willi iiiinu'i'i'irul kiiil'c. 
Or |>ruiu's llicni lor cviT, ill love's last ndicu ! 

Ill \Miii willi rndciiriiii'iils we soollic llir sail licarl, 

In \,-iiii ilo \\ r Mi\v lor an ai^c lo In' Inif, 
Tlu' cliaiKT of an hour may coiiiinunil us to |>arl, 

()\- (Icaili (lisiiiiil.' IIS ill love's hisl adieu ! 

,S|ill llojie, hrealliiiiy ]ieiii'o tliroiin'h the uriel'-swolleii breast, 
\\ ill whisper, "Our iiuH'liiiu' we yet may renew':" 

AV'ilii this ilreaiii of deeeil half our sorrow 's re|irest, 
Nor tiislo wo the jiuisoii of lo\ e's last ailieii ! 

(.)h ! iiiiirk you ymi pair: in the sunshine of youth 

I,()Vi' twiiieil round their ehildhood his llowers as they ^Tow ! 

Tliev lloiirish awhile in the season of Iriilh, 
Till ehiU'd li\ the winter of lovo's last: aiLicu ! 

Sweet lady ! w liy I hiis doth a tear steal its way 
l)o\vn a cheek whirii ouii'ivals tliy liosoni in line ? 

Yet why do I ask ? to dislraelion a jirey, 

Tiiy reason has perish'd with love's last, adieu! 

(>li I wiio iN yon niisantiirope, ^dlllllllin^• iiiaiikind ? 

Im-oiii eilies lo eaxes of the forest he Hew : 
1'liere, raving', lie howls his eoinplaiiit to the wiiul; 

The nionnlain.s ivverbenito love's last, aditu I 

Now hall' rules a heart wliieh in love's easy ehains 
(»iiee passion's tnninltnous lilaiidishments knew, 

Despair now inlhiuies the dark tide of his M'ins; 
lie (HUiders in iVeii/y on love's last adieu ! 

llow he einies the wreleh with a soul wrapt in steel! 

His pleasures are searee, yet his tronhles are few. 
Who lauu'hs at the |>an;;- tiial he niwer ean feel, 

And dreads not the anguish of love's la>t adieu! 

'S'ont'i Hies, life derays, even hope is o'ereast ; 

No niore with line's loriner devotion we sue: 
lie spreads his yoiinu'' win;;, lie retires with the Mast; 

'I'he shroud of iill'eetion is love's last adieu! 

In this life of prolialion for I'aptun' divine, 

Astrea deelares that soiiie nenaiiee is due; 
From him wiio has worshipp d at love's f^eiitle shriuCj 

The atonenient is ample in love's last adieu! 

\\\u) kneels to tiie -od, on his altar of lii.-lit 

Must iii\ liie and i\ press alternately strew : 
His myrtle, an enihlem of purest deli^iht; 

His eypress the <;:iirland of love's last adieu! 



nouns OF idleness. s65 



DAM^ETAS. 

In law an infant, and in years a boy,* 

In mind a slave to every 'vicious joy; 

From every sense of slianio and virtue wcan'd; 

\n lies an adept, in deceit a fiend ; 

Versed in livitocrisy, wliiic yet a <'liild; 

Fickle as wind, ol' iiicliiiiitioiis wild; 

Woman ills dii|K', his liccdlcss iViend a tool; 

Old in tin^ world, Ihoiiiili sfarccly l)rok(^ IVorn school; 

Damii'tas ran lln'oii;;li all liic ]\i;\yA' of sin. 

And found tiie uoal when olhcrs jusi hej^in : 

Even still eoiiiliclinii' piissions siiake liis soul. 

And hid him (h'ain tin; (h'cj;s of ))leasure's howl; 

But, ))aird witli vice, he hreaks his former chain, 

And what was once his hliss appears his banc. 



TO MARION. 

Marion! why Uiat pensive brow? 

What (Hs;rust to life hast lliou ? 

Chan;;c that discoiilcntcil jiir; 

Frowns iiecome nut one so fiiir. 

'Tis not love distui'hs thy vcM, 

IjOvc 's a stranj^cr to tiiy breast; 

He in dimpliu','' smiles .'ipix'ars, 

Or mourns in sweetly timid tears. 

Or bends llie hinj^iiiil cyrliil down, 

Hut siiuns the eold forliiddin;; frown. 

Tlicn resuuK! thy former tirt!, 

Some will love, and all admire; 

While that icy aspect chills us, 

Nou;;ht but cool indill'ci'cucc thrills us. 

Wouldst thou wandci-ju;^- hearts be<:uil(j, 

Smile at, least-, or seem to smile. 

Eyes lik(! thiu(! were never meant 

To hidi^ theii' orbs in dark I'cslraint; 

Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, 

Still in truant beams tluy i)]ay. 

■j^liy lips -but Ihm'c my modest, Muse 

]Icr inipidse chasti^ must needs refuse: 

She blushes, eui't'sies, I'rowns — in short, sho 

Dreads lest the subje(,'t should transport mc; 

And llyin^r oil" in search of reason, 

Brin;;s ))rudence ba(!k in jiropei- season. 

All I shall therefore say (whate'cr 

I think, is neither Ikm'c noi' there) 

Is, that sucii lips, of looks eudeai'in^r, 

Were form'd for hcttei' thin;;s than sneering: 

Of snu)otliinji' compliments (hvested, 

Advice at least 's <lisintei'ested ; 

Such is my artl(^ss sonjz' to liiec, 

From all the How of ilatterj' free; 

'In law, every person Is an Infant who has not attained the age of twenty-one. 



8GG iiorns or tn/.i:\i:ss. 

Counsel like iiiiiK- is like ;i bnillior's. 
My lioMi't is i^ivi'ii l<i soiiu' ulluTs; 
'I'liiU is lo s!iy, miskillM lo {-o/iMi, 
It slmi'i's ilscir luiuiiif^' ii iloziMi. 
^Marion, sulii'ii ! oli, )>i-'vtlu'i', sli;;'lit not 
This NViiriiiiii;', tlioimii U iiiiiv tK'lii:iiI not; 
And, lost niy |)r('ci'|ils In- liisiilcnsini;' 
I'o lliosc wlio think ri-niimstrimco loasini;-, 
At- oiici' I'll It'll llu'c our <)|)inam 
CoMciTiiinu' woniim's sol'l iloiuiiiioii : 
llowc'oi' we <xn-/.<.' with lulniii-Mliou 
On ("vos of hlni' or lips i-iirniition, 
llowo'or till- lli>\vinf;' locks iitli'iict us, 
llowc'or thoso lu'iuitii's may tlislraot us, 
IStill lifklf, wi" arc |>ronc lo rovo, 
'IMu'so catmot liv our souls to lovi': 
U. is not loo sovt'i'o a sirictuiv 
'J\) say llu'y I'orin a inrlty pii'tuiv; 
Hut Woulilst tliou soc tl»o socri'l I'liaiii 
\\'lii('li liimls us in youi- lunnhlo train, 
To hail you ipH'ons of all creation, 
Know, in a word, 'tis Animation. 



TO A LADY, 

WHO rUESKNTri) TO TI'.i: Al'TIIOll A l.OC'U OV IIAIIJ 1U{AIT>ET> AVITII 
Ills OWN, ANI> Ai-rOlNTl'.l) A NIOIIT IN DKCKMHUU TO MEET 
HIM IN Tilt; (iAIiliUN. 

Tlii;slC locks, which fondly Ihii': entwine, 

In linncr chains our hearts t'online 

'I'Ikiu :dl the nmni'anini;' in-otcsiations 

W hieh --well with nonsense love orations. 

(hir lo\e is li\'d, 1 think we've imived it, 

NiM- lime, nor iilace, nor ail ha\e moved it; 

Tiicn wherefore shoidd we sii;li and whine. 

With j^roundless Jealousy reiiine, 

\\'ilh silly whims and fancies frantic, 

^Merely to niak(> (Uir lo\'c I'omantie ? 

W'liv should you weep like l.ydia Liiuii'uish, 

And fret with self-created anunish; 

Or doom the lover you ha\e chosen. 

On winter nii;'hls lo sii;h half iVozcii; 

Jn leafless shailes to sue for pardon. 

Only because the seeno's a {j'arileii ? 

For gardens seeiu, hv one consent, 

iSinee Shakspcai'c S(M the )irecedent, 

Binceduliel lirsi dcclaied her passion, 

To form tlu' place of assignation.* 

* In tlip al)ov<> llttlii pti'oi'. till* nntluir liiis boon acousoii liy somo eam/iit 
rentiers i>r InlvmlaclUK' tlie niiino of a liulv tVom wliiaii In- was Sdiiu' liuiuUvil 
iiillos (llslinil al till' tlnic llils was wi'llli-ii; ami poor .lallcl, wlio l.as slopi so 
loUK In "llio toiiih ol' 111! iho ruinilols," Ims lu'i'ii coiivcrlrd, wlili a trilllii!; iilliT- 
alloii ol' lu'i- luniu', into an I'.ai;li-.li ilaiiiscl, wiilUini; in a yaiiU'ii ot'tlu'irown 
croatlon, ilarlnn the uioiilli ol' /><i-tiiifirr. In a vllla,i;c wluav llie nullior iu'vor 
passt'il a winter. Sacli lias Ik'cm llio eaiulor of siauc hiKoaioiis orltles. Wo 
woalil advlso tlioso liOcral couuuontators on tasto ami arbiters of dccoraiu tn 



iionts OF ]/>Li:.\Ess. SG7 

Oh! wdiihl soiiK^ iiiixlcni iiiiisc inspire, 
And scMl lici- liy !i ncii-c(i:il lil'c; 
Orlmd the hiinl ill ( 'iii'isliii.'is wi'idcn, 
And hntl tliu scone of iovi' in I'.riliiin, 
1I(! surely, in coniinisci:!! ion, 
lliid (^liiinjicd tlu! ))l;ic(' of dccidriition. 
In I tidy \'\i'. no ohjcclion : 
WiU'ni nif^lils an- proper for reflection ; 
IJul, here oin' ciinndc is so rifzid, 
Tlnd love itself is nillier iVij^id : 
Tldid< (11 our eliilly siln.-ilion, 
And curl) lliis i;i;;e for iiiiilalioii ; 
T1k!ii k^t, lis meet, iis off wc^'vc done, 
IJenc'iilli tiio iiiiliKMice of lli<! sun; 
Or, if ill inidnijiiil, I iiiiisl iiieef you. 
Within 3'()iir iniiiision let me f^rect you : 
1'lieiv we Ciui love for h((urs to^;'ether, 
IVIiK'h hi'ller in such snowy wciilher, 
'i'hiiii )iliice(l in .'Ul Ihe Arcudiiin ^'rovcs 
TliiiL evt'r witiK^ss'd rural loves; 
Then, if my oiission fail to please, 
Next ni^^hl 1 II he conlent to iVeeze ; 
No more I'll f^ive a loose to lau;fliler. 
But curse my late lor ever after.* 



OSCAR Ol'^ ALVA.t 
A tam;. 
How sweetly shines Ihioii^ih ii/in-e skies 
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; 
Where Alva's hoary turrets rise. 
And hear the din of arms no more. 

But often has yon rollinir moon 

On Alva.'s easipies of silver play'd; 
And view'd at midnif^ht's silent noon, 

Her ciiiefs in fileamiiif;- mail array'd. 

And on tin; erimson'd rocks heiieath, 
Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen How, 

Pale in the s('alter'il iJiiiks of dealli. 
She saw the fraspiny warrior low ; 

While many an eye which ne'er aifaia 

C<nil(l mark tlu; risiii;,^ orh of day, 
Turn'd fe(!l>ly from the i^ovy plain. 

Beheld in death her lading' ray. 

• lliivint' lif.'iril Hint a very sinoro iiiid iiulcllrnio cciisiiri' Ims hciMi imsHcd on 
tlio nl)()vc> pnciii, I Ik'K Icmvc to I'cpiv III a ((iioliUlnii iVdiii an iidiiilrcd wiirk, 
"Onrr's S(niiiK<'r in fnuicc; "-" Ah we wcrccdiilciMiilalliiu apidnllii),' on n larKO 
sciilc, hi wlilcli, luiioii^' (iljjcr (iKurrs, is liii' iiiicovcri'rl wliolit Ic.iikIIi cjC ii wiirrliir, 
a priidisli-lool<iiit,' liidy, who si'i'incd to liiiv<> toMclicd I lie iiKiMd'dftspfralloii, iil1(^r 
Imvliin iittcMllvciy siii-vc,\i(l it tliroiiuli Ikt ^lass, oliNcTvcd to licr party, Hint 
tlici-c was a KH'al di'ai nl' iiidci-oriiiii In llial picdiri'. Madame S. slirowdly 
\vlils|)('rcd 111 my car, lliiil tlic iiidi'conim was In llic remark." 

t 'I'lic catastroiiiic of tills lal(^ was MiKKestcd liy tln' slory of " Jcronymo nnil 
l,nriiizo," III tli(' (li'Hi volume of Sclilllor s " Ar'mciilan; or. The OlioHt-Scor." 
It also bears hoiiic resemljluiico to tt acoiic In tlic tliird act of " Macbeth." 



36^ norns of idlexess. 

Once to those eyes the lamp of Love, 
They blest her ilear propitious liflht; 

But now she jiliiiuuerM IVoni above, 
A sad, fiineretil torch of niy;ht. 

Faded is Alva's noble race. 

And gray her towers are seen afar ; 

No more her heroes iirirc the chase. 
Or roll the ci-inison tide of war. 

But who was last of Alva's elan ? 

Why prows tlie moss on ^Viva's stone ? 
Her towers resound no steii-s of man, 

They echo to the gale riloiie. 

And when that pale is fierce and high, 
A sound is heard in j-ondcr hall : 

It rises hoai-sely through the sky, 

And vibrates* o'er the mouklcrini;: walL 

Yes, when the cddyinjr tempest sitrlis. 
It shakes the shield of Oscar brave; 

But there no n)ore his banners rise, 
No more his pliunes of sable wave. 

Fair shone the sun on Oscai-'s birth. 
When Anjinis hailM his eldest born ; 

The vassals round their chieftain's hearth 
Crowd to applaud the happy morn. 

They feast upon the mountain deer. 
The pibroch raised its piercinir note : 

To s'ladden nuire tlieir hiuhbimi cheer. 
The strains in martial numbers tloat : 

And thcv who heard the war-notes wild. 
Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain 

Should play Ijcfore the hero's child 
While he shoulil lead the tartan train. 

Another year is quickly past. 

And Aiifius hails another sou; 
His natal day is like the last. 

Nor soon the jocund feast was done- 
Taught by their sire to bend the bow, 

On Alva's tlusky hills of wind, 
The bovs in ehiUUiood chased the roe. 

And 'left their hounds in speed behind. 

But ere their ycai-s of youth are o'er, 
They nungle in the ranks of war; 

They iioiitly wheel the bright clavmore. 
And send the whistling arrow i'ar. 

Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair. 
Wildly it stream'd along the gale; 

But Allan's locks were bright and fair, 
And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale. 



nouns OF idlexess. 3^9 

But Oscar own'd ;i liovo's soul, 

His (lurk cm' slioiic lhv()u<;li beams of truth; 
Allan liad early k'ai-n'd control, 

Aud smooth his words had been from youth. 

Both, both wcrc bi-ave : the Saxon spear 

Was sliivcr'd oft beneath their steel; 
And Osi-ar's l)oson) sforn'd to fear, 

But Oscar's bosom knew to feel ; 

While Allan's soul belied liis form. 

Unworthy with sudj oharms to dwell: 
Keen as the lifjfhtniufj of the storm. 

On foes his deadly vengeance fell. 

From hin-h Southannon's distant tower 

Arrived a youn^r and noble dame ; 
With Kenneth's lauds to form her dower, 

Gleuidvon's blue-eyed daughter came ; 

And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, 

And Angus on his Oscar smiled ; 
It soothed the father's feudal pride 

Thus to obtain Gleualvon's child. 

Hark to the pibi-och's pleasing note! 

Ilark to the swelling luiiitial song! 
In joyous strains the voices lloat, 

Ami still the choral peal prolong. 

See how the heroes' blood- red plumes 

Assembled wave in Alva's hall^ 
Each youth his varied plaid assumes, 

Attending on their chieftain's call. 

It is not war their aid demands, 

The pibrcx'h plays tlic song of peace ; 
To Oscar's luipliais ilirong tlic l)ands. 

Nor yet the sounds of pleasui'e cease. 

But where is Oscar ? sure 'tis late : 

Is tills a britlegroom's ardent ilame ? 
While tin-onging guests and ladies wait. 

Nor Oscar nor his brother came. 

At length young' Allan joiu'd the bride; 

" Why comes not Oscar ? " Angus said : 
"Is he not here ?" the youth replied; 

" With me he roved not o'er the glade. 

" Perchance, forgetful of the day, 

'Tis his to chase the bounding roe; 
Or ocean's waves prolong his stay; 

Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 

" Oh, no ! " the anguish'd sire rejoin'd, 

"Nor chase nor wave my boy delay; 
Would he to Mora seem unkind ? 

Would auyht to her impede his way ? 
24 



370 II OURS OF IDLENESS. 

"Oh, search, yc chiefs ! oh, search around! 

Alliin, wilh'thest: Ihrout^'h Alva lly ; 
Till Oscar, till my son is I'ouiul, 

Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply." 

All is confusion — through the vale 
Th(! name of Oscar hoarsely rings, 

It rises ou ihe munnuriu^' f^alc, 

Till night expands her dusky wings ; 

It breaks the stillness of the night. 

But echoes through her shades in vain, 

It sounds through morning's misty light, 
But Oscar eonics not o'er the plain. 

Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief 
For Oscar seareh'd each mountain cave! 

Then hope is lost ; in hoiindless grief, 
His locks in gray torn ringlets wave. 

"Oscar, my son ! — thou God of heaven 
llestorc the prop of sinking age ! 

Or if that iuipc no more is given, 
Yiolil his assassin to my rage: — 

"Yes, on some di'scrt rocky shore 
My Oscar's whitcn'd lioncs must lie ; 

Then grant, thou ( iod ! 1 ask no more, 
With him his frantic sire may die ! 

"Yet he may live — away, despair! 

Be calm, lu}' soul ! lie yet may live; 
To arraign my fate, my voice forbear! 

God ! my impious prayer forgive. 

" What, if he live for me no more, 

1 sink forgott(m in the dust, 
The hope oi' Alva's age is o'er; 

Alas! can pangs like these be just?" 

Thus did the ha]>less parent mourn, 
Till Time, which soothes severest woo, 

Had bade serenity return, 

And made the teiu'-drup cetise to How. 

For still some latent hope survived 
That Oscar might once more ai>pear : 

His hope now drooi)'il and now revived, 
Till Time had told a tedious year. 

Daj's roU'd along, the orb of light 
Again had run his destined race, 

No Oscar bless'd his fathei''s sight, 
And sorrow left a fainter trace. 

For youthful Allan still rcmain'd, 
And now his father's only Joy : 

And JSIora's heart was ([uickly gain'd, 
For beauty erown'tl the fair-luiir'tl boy. 



HOURS OF IDLE.XESS. 371 

She thousrlil that Oso.ir low was laid, 

And Allan's face was wondrous lair: 
If Oscar lived, sonic other maid 

Had claim'd his faithless hosom's care. 

And Ang-us said, if one j'car more 

In fruitless hope was pass'd away, 
Ilis fondest scruples should he o'er, 

And he would name their nuptial day. 

Slow roll'd the moons, lint hlcst at last 

Arrived the dearly destined morn; 
The year of anxious trcnihlin;^: past, 

What smiles the lovers' eheelcs adorn I 

Hark to the )iil)roch's pleasinj^' note ! 

Hark to the swelling' miptial song! 
Ill joyous strains the voices iloat, 

And still the choral peal prolong. 

Again the clan, in festive ci-owd. 

Throng through the gate of Alva's ha"I; 

The sounds ol' mii'ih re-echo loud, 
And all tlieir former joy recall. 

But who is he, whose darken'd brow 

(iloonis in the mitlst of general mirth? 
Before his eyes' far fiercer glow 

The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. 

Dark is the robe which wraps his form, 

And tall his pltnnc of gory red; 
His voice is like the rising storm, 

But light and trackless is his tread. 

'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, 
The bridegroom's health is deeply (luaird; 

With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, 
And all combine to hail the draught. 

Sudden the stranger-chief arose, 
And all the clamorous crowd arc hush'd; 

And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, 
And Moi'a's tender Ijosom blush'tl. 

"Old man! " he cried, "this ple<lge is done! 

I'iiou saw'st 'twas duly drunk by me : 
It hail'il the nuptials of thy son ; 

Now will I claim a jilcdge from thee. 

"While all around is mirth and joy, 

To i)lcss thy Allan's hajijiy lot, 
Say, liaiNt thou )U''er another boy ? 

bay . wh}- sh(udd Oscar be forgot ? " 

"Alas! " the hapless sire replied. 

The big tear starting as he spoke, 
" When Oscar left my hall, or died. 

This aged heart was almost broke. 



872 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 

"Thrice has the earth revolved her course 
Since Oscar's form has lilessVl my sight : 

Anil AUaii is my hist resource, 

Since martial Oscar's ileath or flight." 

" 'Tis well," replied the stran<rcr stern, 

And fiercely llasii'd liis rolliuLT eye; 
"Thy Oscar's i'ato I fain would learn : 

I'erhaiis the hero did not die. 

" Perchance, if those whom Tuost he loved 
Would eall, tiiy Oscar miulit rcluru; 

Pcrciiancc tiie chief has oidy roved; 
For him thy beltane yet may liurn.* 

"Fill high the bowl the table round, 

We will not claim the iilcdi^c liy sicalth; 

Wi(h wine Icti every cu]) be crownM ; 
Pledge me dei)ai'led t)sear's hcallh." 

"W^ith all mv soul," old Angus said. 

And till'd his goblet to the brim; 
" Here 's to my boy 1 alive or ilend, 

I ne'er shall find a son like him." 

" Bravely, old man, this health has sped ; 

]}nt wliy iloes trembling Allan stand ? 
Come, drink reineud)rance of the dead. 

And raise thy cup with iirmer hand." 

The crimson glow of Allan's face 

Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue; 
The drops of death each other chase 

Adown in agonizing dew. 

Thrice did he raise the goblet high, 

And thrice his lijis rci'uscd to taste; 
For thrice be caught the stranger's eye 

On his with deailly fury i)laced. 

"And is it thus a brother hails 

A brotiu'r's fond I'cmcudirauce hei'O ? 

If thus alfectidu's strength prevails, 
What might we not expect from fear ?" 

Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl, 

" Would Oscar now could share our mirth ! '* 

Internal fear appall'il his soul ; 

He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. 

" 'Tis he ! I hear my mtu-derer's voice ! " 
Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form; 

" A uuirderer's voice ! " the roof replies. 
And deeply swells the biu'sling storm. 

• Rcltauo 'I"ro(\ a Ilighlaud fostival on the first of May, lioUl near fires lighted 
for the ocfasioii. 



IIOIRS OF fDLEXESS. 373 

The tupcrs wink, the cliiuftiiins shrink, 

The stranger's jj;one — amidst the crew 
A I'orni was seen in tartan yrccn. 

And tall the shade territic grew. 

His waist was bound with a broad Ix-lt round, 

His plume ol' sable stream'd on hi;ili ; 
But his breast was i)are, with the re(l wounds there, 

And lix'd was tlie glare of his gla.ssy eye. 

And thrice he smiled, with liis eye so wild, 

On Angus i)onding low tlu^ knee; 
Anil tbriee he IVownM on a eliiel" on the ground, 

Whom shivering crowds with horror see. 

The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole 

The tlumilers through the welkin ring. 
And the gleaming i'orm, through the mist of the storm, 

Was bo)-ne on high by the whirlwind's wing. 

Cold was the feast, the revel ceased ; 

Who lies upon the stony tloor ? 
Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast. 

At length his life-pidsc throbs once more. 

"Away! away! let tlie leech essay 

To pour the light on Allan's eyes : " 
His sand is done — his race is nui ; 

Oh ! never more shall Allan rise ! 

But Oscar's breast is cold as clay. 

His locks arc lifted by the gale : 
And Allan's i)arl)ed arrow lay 

With him in dark (ilentanar's vale. 

And whence the dreadful stranger came, 

Or who, no mortal wight can tell ; 
But no one douiils the form of llame, 

For Alva's sons knew Oscar well. 

Ambition nerved young Allan's hand, 

Exulting demons wing'd his dart; 
While Envy waved her ])uruing brand. 

And pour'd her venom rounil his heart. 

Swift is the shaft from Allan's ])ow ; 

Whose streaming life blood stains his side? 
Dark Oscar's sal)lc crest is low. 

The dart has drunk his vital tide. 

And Mora's ej'c could Allan move, 

She l)ade his wounded pride rel)el ; 
Alas! that eyes which l)eam'd witii love 

Should urge the soul to deeds of hell. 

Lo ! scest thou not a lonely tomb 

Which rises o'er a warrior dead ? 
It glinnuers through the twilight gloom; 

Oh ! that is Allan's nuptial bed. 



374 HOUBS OF IDLEXESS. 

Far, distant far, the uoblo <i:ravc 

Which held his pUiu's great ashes stood ; 

And o'er his corse no banners wave. 

For they were stain'd with kindred blood. 

What minstrel g'ray, what hoary bard, 
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise ? 

The song is glory's chief reward. 

But who can strike a murderer's praise ? 

Unstrung, tintouch'd, the harp must stand, 
No minstrel dare the theme awake ; 

Guilt would benumb his palsied hand, 
His harp in shuddering chords would break. 

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse, 
Sliall sound his glories high in air; 

A dying father's bitter curse, 

a" brother's death-groan echoes there. 



THE EPISODE OF NISUS AXD EUEYALUS. 

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ^NEID, LIB. IX. 

NiSUS, the guardian of the portal, stood, 

Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood; 

AVell skill'il in fight the quivering lance to wield, 

Or pour his arrows through the embattled field ; 

From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave. 

And souiiht a foreign home, a distant grave. 

To watch the movements of tiie Dauuiau host, 

With him Euryalus sustains the post; 

No lovclii-T mien adorn'tl the ranks of Troy, 

And beardless liloom yet graced the gallant boy; 

Though lew the seasons of his youthful life. 

As yet a novice in the martial strife, 

'Twas his, with beautv, valor's gifts to share — 

A soul heroic, as his form was fan-; 

These burn with one pure fiame of generous love; 

In peace, in war, united still they move ; 

Friendship and glory form their joint reward; 

And now combined "they hold their nightly guard. 

"What god," exclaira'd the first, " instills this fire ? 
Or, in itself a god, what great desire ? 
My laljoring soul, with anxious thought oppress'd. 
Abhors the station of inglorious rest; 
The love of fame with this can ill accord, 
Be 't mine to seek for glory with my sword. 
Seest thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim, 
Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazv liml) ? 
Where confidence and case the watch disdain, 
And drowsy Silence holds hei' sable reign ? 
Then hear "my thought : — In deep and sullen ^rief 
Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief: 
Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine 
(The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine), 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 375 

Were this decreed, beneath yon risin^: -mound, 
Melhinks, an easy path perchance were found : 
Which pass'd, I sjiced my way to PaUas' walls, 
And lead ^Encas iroiu Evandcr's halls." 

Witli equal ardor fired, and warlike .joy, 
His g'lowini;' friend address'd the Dardau hoy: — 
" These deeds, my Nisiis, shalt thou dare alone ? 
Must all the fame, the peril, he thine own ? 
Am 1 by thee despised, and left afar. 
As one unfit to share the toils of war ? 
Not thus his son the p:rcat Opholtes taufrht; 
Not tlius my sire in Arrive combats fonji-ht; 
Not tluis, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate, 
I track'd ^Eneas through the walks of fate : 
Thou know'st my deeils, my breast devoid of fear. 
And liostile life-ih'ops (Hm my gory spear. 
Here is a soul with hope immortal burns. 
And life, ignoble life, for fflniy spurns. 
Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by tlceting breath : 
The price of honor is the sleep of death." 

Then Nisus : — " Calm thy bosom's fond alarms, 
Thy heart beats fiercel_y to tlie din of arms. 
Moi'e dear thy worth and valor than my own, 
I swear by lum who fiUs Olympus' throne ! 
So may I triumph, as I speak the truth. 
And clasp again the comrade of my youth ! 
But shoukl 1 fall, — and he who dares advance 
Throug-h hostile legions must abide by chance, — 
If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, 
Shoidd lay the friend who ever loved thee low, 
Live thou, such beauties I would fain preserve, 
Thy budding years a lengtheu'd term deserve. 
When humbled in the dust, let some one be 
Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for rae ; 
Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force, 
Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse; 
.Or, if my destiny these last dem\ 
If in the spoiler's power my ashes lie, 
Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb, 
To mark thy love, and signalize ray doom. 
Why should thy doting wretched mother weep 
Her only boy, reclined in endless sleep ? 
Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dared. 
Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shared ; 
AVho braved what woman never braved before. 
And left her native for the Latian shore." 
" In vain you damp the ardor of ray soul," 
Replied Etiryalus : " it scorns control ! 
Hence, let us haste ! " — their brother guards arose, 
Roused by their call, nor court again repose ; 
The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing. 
Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king. 

Now o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran. 
And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man ; 



876 iiorns of idlexesl. 

Save wlicve tho Dardan leaders nifjhtly ho 
Alternate eoiiverse, and tlieir plaiw nnlold. 
C)n one ;;reut |)oinl tlie eoiineil are ai^ri'i'd, 
An instant niessaj;e to tlieir prince deereed ; 
Eaeh lean'd upon tlie lanee he well eoiild wielf*^ 
And jiois'd with easy arm his ancient shield; 
\\'hen Nisus and his friend their ]ea\e request 
To olFcr soniellun^- tc, their hi-li l)ehest. 
With anxious tremors, yet nnawed l)y tear, 
The faitliful )>air before the throne appear: 
Inhis n'reels them ; at liis Ivind command, 
The eklor lust adclress'd the hoary baiitl. 

" With jiatiencc " (thus Ilyrtaeidcs hejran) 
" Attend, nor Judaic from youth our hnmhle i)lan. 
Wiiere ^diidcr beacons lialf expiriuLC beam, 
Our slumbering' foes of futurt' couipiests dream, 
Nor heed that we a secret patli have traced, 
Between the ocean and the porlal placed, 
Beneath the covert of the blackeninLT smoke, 
\\"hosc shade securch- our design will cloak ! 
If you, ye chiefs, and fortune will allow, 
\\'e'll beiiil our course to yonder mountain's brow, 
Where Pallas' walls at distance uu'i't the sii;iit. 
Seen o'er the ^huk', when not oliscured by night: 
Then shall .-Eneas in ids pride return, 
AX'hile hostile matrons raise their otlspriny's urn; 
And Latian spoils and iiurjiled iieaps of dead 
Shall mark tlie havoc ot our hero's tread. 
Sucii is our iiurpose, not unknown tlie way; 
AN'lierc yonder torrent's devious waters stray, 
Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, 
The distant spires iibovu the valleys gleam." 

Mature in years, for sober wisdom famed, 
Moved l>v the speech, Alethes here exclaim'd : 
" Ye parent gods! who rule the fate of Troy, 
Still dwi'ils the Dardan spii-it in tlie boy; 
M'hen minds like these in striplings thus ve raise, 
Yours is the godlike act, be yours the jiraise; 
In gallant youth, my faintiiiL: hopes revive, 
And llion's wonted glories still survive." 
"J'beu in Ins warm cmltrace the boys he press'd, 
.\nd ipiivering, strain'd them to his aged breast; 
M'ith teai's the burning cheek of eaeh bedew'd. 
And, sni)i)ing, thus his tirst discourse renew'd : 
" What gift, my countrymen, what martial (irizc 
Can ye bestow, which you may not despise ? 
Our deities llie lii'st best boon have given — 
Inti'i'iinl \ iriucs are the gift of Heaven. 
AX'hat poor rewards can bless your deeds ou earth, 
Doubtless await such young, exalted worth. 
yKneas and Aseaniiis shall eoml>ine 
To yield applause far, far surpassing mine." 
lulus then : — " ]5y all the powers above! 
By those I'cnates who my country love ! 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 377 

By hoaiy Vesta's sacred fane, I swear, 

My hopes arc all in you, ye f.a'neroiis pair! 

Restore my i'atlicr to my <ri-at('lul si^lit, 

Aiul all my sorrows yiclil to one (lclTL;li't. 

Nisiis ! two silver {io'hlets arc; tliiiie own. 

Saved from Arisha's stately domes o'ertlirowc' 

My sire secured tliem on that fatal day. 

Nor left such bowls :m Arjiive robber's prey • 

Two massy tripods, :ds(., shall be thine ; 

Two talents polish'd from the nlitlennji' mine; 

An ancient cup, which Tyriaii Dido fiJU'c, 

Wlule yet our vessels press'd the I'unic wave : 

But when the hostile chiefs at len^ith bow dowTi 

When ^ri-eat yEncas wears Ilespcria's crown, ' 

The casque, the buckler, and tliu liery steed' 

Which Tnrnus ;;nides with more tliau mortal speed. 

Arc thine ; no envions lot sIimII then be cast, 

1 pledge my word, irrevocably past: 

Nay more, twelve slaves, and" twice six captive dames, 

To soothe thy softer hours with amorous llames, 

And all the realms which now tlie Latins sway ' 

The lal)oi-s of to-ni^^ht shall well repay. ' ' 

But thou, my jicncrons youth, whose tender years 

Are near my own, whose worth my heart reveres, 

lUnccforth ail'ection, sweetly thus i)cuun, 

Shall Join our bosoms and our souls in one; 

Without thy aid, no jilory shall be mine; 

Without thy dear advice,' no ^reat desiu-n ; . 

Alike throiijih life cstcem'd, thou ;,'-o(llil<c boy, 

lu war my bulwark, and in peace my joy." ' 

To him Euryalus :— " No day shall shame 
The i-isinii- f;lorics which fmin'this I claim. 
Fortune may favor, or the skies may frown, 
But valor, spite of fate, obtains renown. 
Yet, ere from hence our ea<,'er stef»s depart. 
One boon I bc'jr, the nearest to my heart : 
My mother, spiiinji- from I*riam's royal line, 
Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine. 
Nor Troy, nor khv^ iVccstes' realms restrain 
Tier fcel)lc ajic from danjrci-s of the main; 
Alone she came, all selfisli fcai-s aliove, 
A bright example of maternal love. 
Unknown the secret cntenirise I brave. 
Lest mn'ef should bend my pjtrent to the grave; 
From this alone no fond adieus I seek. 
No faintiiifi- mother's lips have press'd my cheek; 
By ^rJoomy iji;;lit and thy riyht hand 1 vow 
Her i>artinK- tears would shake my purpose now: 
Do thou, my prince, her failini^- a^e sustain, 
In thee her much-loved child may live again; 
Her dyini,^ hours with pious conduct bless. 
Assist her wants, relieve her fond dis-tress ; 
So dear a hope must all my soul inHame, 
To rise in glory, or to fall in fame." 
Struck with a filial care so deeply felt, 



378 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 

In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt : 

Faster than all, lulus' eyes o'crflow ; 

Such love was liis, and such had been his woe. 

"All thou hast asked, receive," the prince replied; 

"Nor this alone, hut many a jiift beside. 

To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim, 

Creusa's style but wanting to the dame.* 

rortiine an adverse, wayward course may run, 

But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son. 

Now, by my life ! — my sire's most sacred oath — 

To thee I pledge my t'ull, my firmest trotli. 

All the rewards which once to thee were vow'd. 

If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be V)estow'd." 

Thus spoke the weeping prince, then forth to view 

A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew; 

Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel, 

For friends to envy and for foes to feel : 

A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil. 

Slain 'uiidst the forest, in the hunter's toil, 

]Mncstlicus to guard the elder youth bestows, 

And old Alcthes' casque defends his brows. 

Arm'd, thence they go, while all the assembled train, 

To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain. 

More than a boy in wisdom and in-grace, 

lulus liolds amidst the chiefs liis place : 

His prayer he sends ; but what can prayers avail, 

Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale ! 

The trench is pass'd, and, favor'd by the night, 
Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight. 
When shall the sleep of many a foe he o'er ? 
Alas ! some slumber who sliall wake no more ! 
Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen ; 
And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between: 
Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine ; 
A mingled chaos this of war and wine. 
" Now," cries the first, " for deeds of blood f)repare, 
With me the conquest and tlie labor share : 
Here lies our path; lest any hand arise. 
Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies : 
I'll carve our passage through the heedless foe, 
And clear thy road with many a deadl}- blow." 
His whispering accents then the youth repress'd. 
And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting breasts 
Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed ; 
Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed; 
To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince. 
His omens more than augur's skill evince; 
But he, who thus foretold the fate of all, 
Could not avert his ow^n untimely fall. 
Next Remus' armor-bearer, hapless, fell. 
And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell; 
The charioteer along his coursers' sides 
Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides ; 

* The mother of lulus, lost on the night when Troy was taken. 



HOURS OF : OLE y ESS. 379 

And, last, his lord is mimhcr'd with the dead : 
lioundiii";: eonvul-ilve, Hies the gaspiuy' head ; 
From the swolu veins the lilackeninu' torrents pour; 
Staiii'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore. 
Young Lamyrus and Lanuis next expire, 
And gay Serranus, till'd witli youthful fire ; 
Half the long niglit in childish games was pass'd; 
LuU'd i)y the potent grape, he slept at last; 
Ah ! happier far had lie tlie morn sur\'cy'd, 
And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd. 

In slaughter'd fold, the keepers lost in sleep, 
His hungry fangs a lion thus nuiy steep ; 
'j\Iid the sad Hock, at dead of night he prowls, 
With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls : 
Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams; 
In seas of gore the lordly t^-rant foams. 

Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came, 
But falls on feehle crowds without a name ; 
His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel, 
Yet wakeful Rhaesus sees the threatening steel ; 
His coward breast behind a jar he hides, 
And vainly in the weak defence confides ; 
Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins, 
The reeking weapon liears alternate stains; 
Through wine and blood, connuingling as they flow, 
One feeble spirit seeks the shades below. 
Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way, 
Whose fires emit a faint and tre'm])ling ray; 
There, unconfined, behold each grazing steed, 
Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed : 
Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm. 
Too flush'd with carnage, and ^vith conciucst warm : 
"Hence let us haste, the dangerous patli is ])ass'd; 
Full foes enough to-night have i)reathed their last: 
Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn; 
Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn." 

With silver arms, with various art emboss'd, 
AVhat ImwIs and mantles in confusion toss'd, 
Thc3' leave regardless ! yet one glittering prize 
Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes ; 
The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers ll'lt. 
The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt: 
This from the pallid coi'se was quickly torn, 
Once by a line of former chieftains worn. 
The exulting boy the studded girdle wears, 
Messapus' helm his head in triumph bears ; 
Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend, 
To seek the vale where safer paths extend. 

Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse 
To Turnus' camp pursue their destined course : 
While the slow foot their tardy march delay, 
The knights, impatient, spur along the way : 



380 nouns OF idlexess. 

Three hundred iiiail-elad men, hy Yolscens led, 

To Turnus with thoir master's proniif;e sped; 

Kow thev aiiproach the trencli, and view the walls, 

AVhen, on the left, a liulit relleetion falls; 

The pliuuler'd lielniet, throu;;h the waninu' ni>;'ht, 

Sheds forth a silver ratlianee, planeinjr hriuht. 

Volseens with question lonil the pair alarms : — 

" Stand, strau'ulers ! stand ! why eai'ly thus in arms ? 

From wheuee, to whnin :" — lie meets with no reply i 

I'rustiiii;' the eovert of the night, they tly : 

The thicket's dei)tli with hurried pace they tread, 

AV'hilc round the wood the hostile squadron spread. 

'^^'ith brakes entanji'lcd, scarce a jiatli between, 
Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene : 
F-iirvalus his heavy sjioils impede. 
The hou^lis ami wiiuliuL;' turns his steps mislead ; 
But Nisus scours along the forest's maze 
To where Ijat inns' steeds in safety graze, 
Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend, 
On everv side they seek his absent friend. 
"O (iotl ! my boy," he cries, "of me bereft, 
In what impending perils art thou left! " 
Ijistening he run< — above the waviujf-trees, 
Tunudtuous voices swell the passing breeze; 
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around 
Wake the dark eclioes of the trembling ground. 
Again he turns, of l(H)tsteps hears the noise; 
The sound ehites, the sight his hojH' destroys: 
The h;ipless boy a rutlian train surround, 
"While lengthening shades his weary way confound; 
Ilim with loiul shouts the furious knights pursue. 
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew. 
"What lan his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare? 
Ah! mu't he rush, his comrade's fate to share ? 
AN'hat force, what aid, what stratagem essay, 
"Rack to reileem the Latian siioiler's prey ? 
His life a votive ransom nobly give, 
Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live ? 
I'oising with strength his lifted lance on high. 
On Luna's or!) he east his frenzied eye : — 
"(iixldess serene, transcending every star! 
Qnci'n of the sky, whose beams are seen afar! 
l>y night heaven owns thy sway, by ilav the grove, 
^V'hen, as chaste Dian, here thou deign^st to rove: 
If e'er myself, or sire, have sought to grace 
Thine altars with the produce of the chase, 
Speed, speed my dart to j>ierce yon vaunting crowd, 
To free my friend, and scatter far the proud." 
Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung; 
Through ]iarted shades the hurlling weapon sung; 
The thiisty (loint in Sulmo's entrails lay, 
Transiix'd his heart, and streteh'il him on the elay : 
lie soils, he dies — the troop in wild amaze, 
Unconscious whence the death, with horror gaze; 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 332 

^Vl.ilo pnloihry sta.v, thronoh Tu-ns' temples riven, 
A .sc'coiul Shalt Willi c(|iial l\nvv is driven 
iMeiye Volscei.s rolls aroiiii,! his low'i-jiiu- ovcs ; 
Veil (1 by (he iiinht, secure the 'J'rojan lies." 
J?;iniiiiu- with wrath, he vicwVl liis'soldieis fall- 

Ihou y„uth aeeiirst, ihy life shall pay for all ' " 
Quirk Iroiu the sheath his flamiu- ul;,ivc he drew, 
Aiiil, rajiinji', on the hoy defeiieeless (lew 
Nisus no more the blaekenin- shape conceals, 
I^orfh, lorth he starts, and all his love reveals- 
A-iiast, eoiitused, his fears to madness rise ' 
And pour these accents, shriekino- as he Hies • 
• Me, me—your ven-reance hurl on me alone; 
Here sheathe the steel, mv l.lood is all your own 
Ic .starry spheres ! thou conscious Heaven! attest' 
lie could not-.lurst not-lo ! the -uilc confcst ! 
Ail, all was mine,— his early fate suspend; 
He only loved too well his iiapless friend • 
feparc, spare, ye chiefs ! from him your raffc rcmoTC" 
His fault was friendship, all his crime was k,vc^ ' 
He pray d luvain; the dark assassin's sword 
1 icrced the lair side, the snowy bosom -^ored - 
l.owly to earth inclines his i)lirmc-elad crest ' 
And san^rnmc torrents mantle o'er his breast'- 
As sonie youii- rose, whose blossom scents the air, 
l^an.u-uid in death, exi)ires beneath the share • 
Or cninson poi)py, sinkin- with the shower. 
Deelmin-- gently, lalls a fadiii- llowir ; 
Ihus, sweetly droopino', bends his lovely head 
And lingering beauty hovers round thedeail. ' 

Hut fiery Nisus stems (he liaKle's tide, 
Ileyen>>e his leader, and iJespair his n-uido - 
\ ()ls('cns he seeks amidst the j^-atherin-- host 
\ olsecTis must soon appease his eomrarie's -'host; 
btcel, tlashm-, p(jurs on steel, foe crowds on foe - 
iia-e nerves his arm, fate j;leams in every blow; 
in yam beneath unmimber'd wounds he bleeds 
^or wounds, nor death, distracted Xisus heeds'- 
In viewless circles wheel'd, his falchion ilies ' 
^or (puts the hero's orasp till Volscens dies;' 
-Ueep m his throat its end the weapon found 
lie tyrant's soul ile.l -roanin- throu-h the wound, 
Ihus ^isus all his lond afiection proved— 
Dying, revenged the fate of him lie loved; 
I hen on his bosom sought his wonted place. 
And death was heavenly in his friend's embrace. 

Celestial pair ! if aught my verse can claim, 
Waited on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame ! 
Ages on ages shall your fate admire, 
No future day shall sec your names expire, 
VV hile stands the ( 'apitol, immoitul dome ' 
And vaiKiuish'tl millions hail their empress, Rome? 



3.S2 iiorns of inrEXESs. 



'PHANSLATION FROM TITE MEDKA OV ETTRTPIDES.. 

WmcN (iorco conllictiiij^' jxissioiis m-)Xo 

'I'lii" hrciisl. where love is woiil. to fi'low, 
A\'liii( niiiid fiiM stem llie sloriny siirfie 

Wliieli rolls tlii^ tide of iiuiiiiiii woi^ ? 
The lu)|>e of |ir:iise, the (h'eiul of shiuiio, 

Clin rouse the lorlui'ed lireMsl no moro; 
The wiUl desire, tiie j;uillv lliinie, 

Al)s()ri)s eiieh wish it lelt. before. 

IJiil if iilVeetiou ^;'eiilly thrills 

The soul by pni'er (h-eiuiis possi'st, 
Tlu' |)le!isin^' halui of uu)rlal ills 

111 love eiiii soothe the Mchiun' iu'i-asl : 
If thus thou eoiiu'sl iii dis;^uise, 

I'^iir N'eiius! from thy iinti\e he;i\eu, 
Wliut heart iiufeeliuu' would despite 

Tlio sweetest iiooii the j;ods h;ive ;;iveii ? 

But iu>ver from tliy i,'oldeu bow 

May 1 beneiUii the sh:ift exjiire ! 
Whoso oreepiii;;' veuoiu, sure ;uid_ilfiw, 

Awakes iin iill-eousumiuy lii-e : 
Ye riicUiiiy: doubts! ye jeidous iViu-s! 

With otiiers wiiu'e inleriiiil war; 
Ke|K'iilauee, source of future tears, 

From me lie ever distant far! 

May no dislraetiu;;' thouu'hts destroy 

'hie holy calm of sacred love! 
ISUxy all tlii^ hours lie wiuji'd with joy, 

\\'hicli hover faithful hearts above! 
Fair Venus! on thy myrtle shriiu> 

l\Iay I with soiiu' fond lover si;;h, 
M'hose heart may mingle |iurc with mine — 

W lib me to li\ e, w lib me lo die. 

IMv native soil ! beloved lu't'ore, 

\ow dearer as my |ieaeeful homo, 
Ne'er may 1 ([uit thy rocky shore, 

A haph'ss hanish'd wretch to roam! 
This very day, this very li<iur. 

May I'lvsi^n this llcelinLi' breath! 
Nor unit my silent linmble bowk'r; 

A (loom to me tar worse than death. 

Jlave 1 iKit heard the exile's si;:ii ? 

And seen Ihe e\ile's silent tear, 
Throiiuh distant climes condemn'd to lly, 

.V |H'iisivi> weary wanderer hcri' ? 
Ah! lia|iless dame ! no sire bewails,* 

No friend thy wreti-lu'd fate de|i|ores, 

'fdoa, vvlio m-'-oinpiinii'il .liisun In Corlntli, w;is ilrscrti-d liv lilni for ttio 
.vniuhlvr el CriMii, Idii^or Ihal .'ilv. The chonis iVom whioli llils 'is liilu-n lu-n' 
luliliTsxos Mi'dcri; lliea,!,'li ii odisMrraMo lihrrlv is lalvcu willi tllo iii-lKiii"l. I'.v 
f.xpiiiullii!; tlio lili'il, MS ulso in some ollui- palls oi' Ihe inuisliUion. 



nouns OF ii>ij:\i:ss. 3^3 

No kiiiilrcd voice willi r:i|iliii-i' liiiiU 
Tliy slops witliiu 11 slniujicr's doors. 

Pt'i'isli tlic fiend whose iron heart, 

To fair all'celion's tiiilli iiniinown, 
l{ids iier lie fondly loved depart, 

Uiipitied, helpless, and alone; 
'W' lio ne'er nnhxiks wifli silver key* 

The milder treasnrt^s of his sonl — 
Miiy such a friend he far from me, 

And ocean's stinins helween iis roll ! 



TIIOIKJIITS SUCiGESTi:i) 15Y A COI.LECJK 
EXAMINATION. 

IIhiii in 1h(! Tnids), snri'onnih'd by his peei's, 
Ma^^nns his ainjile fi'oni sid>lime iiprcars : f- 
J'laced on his chair of stale, he seems a, i^'oil. 
While Sophs an<l i''r<'slimen tremble at his nod. 
As all ai'onnd sit wrapt in speechless ;^locim, 
His voice in Ihnnder shakes IIk; sonndinL;' dome; 
J)enonncinf^- dire reproach to Inckless lools, 
Linskill'd to i>lod in mathenialie rules. 

Happy the youth in Euclid's axioms tried, 
Thoii^rli little versiMl in any art i)esi(le; 
Who, scarcely skill'd an I'vU^i'Iish line to pen, 
Scans Attic metics with a critic's ken. 
What, thon;^h he knows not how his fathers hied, 
When civil discord ))iled the liclds with dead. 
When Ivlward hade his eoncpierinji' hands advance, 
Or li(!nry trampled on tln^ crest, of France : 
Tlion;,''li marvellinj,'' at tli(; name of iSla;,fnii (Jiiiirla, 
Yet well he r(^collccls tin; law of Sparla; 
("an tell what edicts sa;;<; LyciM';4US made. 
While Hlackstone 's on tlK^shclf ne;;leeled laid; 
Of (irccian dramas vaunts the deathless fame, 
Of Avon's hard remembering' scarce the namu. 

Such is the youth wlioso scientific patn 
Class-honors, medals, lellowshij)s, await; 
Or (!vcn, perliaps, the declamation prize, 
If to such glorious heijiiit he lift his eyes, 
15nt lo! no common f)iator can ho|)e 
"I'he envied silver cup within bis scope. 
Not that our beads much clo(|iience re<iidrn, 
'I'll' Atbenia,n's I ^^lowin;;' style, or Tnlly's tiro. 
A manner clear or warm is useless, since 
We do not try by speakiny to convince. 

* Tlip orlt,'liiiil iiM'iuiK, Illornlly, " (UscIorImk tlio l)rlKlit Uoy of llin niliiil." 
+ No rclliM'lluii Is liiTc liitciiilcd (i(,'nliisl llic prTsori iiii>rill'oni'(l iiiidcr lln- nnni«( 
of .Mat;iiiis. lie Is iiii'i-clv rcprcsi'iili'il iis pci-fonjiliit; an ini.ivohliililc fiini'lloii of 

his otllcc. hidi'cd, sucli iiii iilli'io|il ( Id only ri'i'oll upon iiivscif; iis lliiil, 

t'CMlliMiiaii Is now us iiuicli (IIsIImhmKImmI liy liis cidipicin'i', :uid llio' iIIkmIIIcmI pro- 
[irlcly Willi wliloli lio lilts Ills siUuitioii, as lie was in Ills younger days for wit 
and I'onvivlallly. 
X l>uiaustliuiiuH. 



3^4 iiorns of idleness. 

Bo otluM- onitors of ploasiniJ: proud : 

Wo spoMl; ti) i>lo:iso (iiirsolvos, not movo tho crowd; 

Our j;T;i\ily proi'iM's llio iiiiittoriiiu' toiio, 

A pn)i)or luixluro of tho s(|iioak and uroau: 

No borrow'd ;ri"ioc of action must bo .scon, 

Tlio sliu-htost motion would displease the Dean ; 

Whilst every starinuf jinnlnate would prate 

Against what he could never imitate. 

The man who hopes t' obtain the promised cup 
Must in one posture stand, and ne'er look up. 
Nor slop, but rattle over every word- 
No matter what, so it can ittit be heard. 
Thus lot hiui hurry on, nor think to rest : 
Who speaks tho fastest '.s sure to speak the best; 
Who utters most within the shortest space 
May safely hoi)e to win the wordy race. 

The sons of science these, who, thus repaid, 
Linger in case in (Jranta's sluggish shade; 
Where on Cam's sedgy baulc supiuc they lie 
Unknown, unlionor'd live, unwept for die : 
l)ull as the iijcturos which adorn tliou- halls, 
They think all learning li\'d within tlnw- walls; 
In niannors rude, in foolish forms precise, 
All modern arts allcctiicj: to despise; 
Yet iiri/.iuu Kcntlcv's, Hrunck's, or Porson's note,* 
More than the verse on which the critic wrote; 
Viiin :is tlu'ir honors, heavy as their ale, 
Sail as their wit, and tedious as their tale; 
To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel 
When Self and Cluiix^h demand a big-ot zeal. 
With oa'4'cr haste they court the lord of power, 
Whether 'tis Titt or t'etty rules the hour;t 
To bins, with s\ippli:int smiles, they bend the head, 
While ilistant uiitres to their eyes ai-c spi'cad. 
lint should a storm o'erwhehn him with disgnice, 
They'd ily to seek the next who lill'd his jilace. 
Siu^li are the nuni who learning's treasures guard! 
8nch is their practice, such is their reward! 
This mtu'h, at least, wo may presume to say — 
The premium can't exceed the price they i>ay. 



TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER. 

SWKET girl ! though only once we met, 
That meeting I shall ne'er forget; 
And tlu)ugh we ne'er n\ay meet again, 
llemcmbrance will thy form retain. 
I would not say, " 1 love," but still 
My senses sitruggle with my will: 

• Porson, Greek professor of Trinity Collt^Jie, Cnmhridse ; a man whose powers 
of mimi iiuii writings innv, perliaps, iustily tlioir prelereuco. 

t Since this wns written, l,onl Henry IVtty has lost his plnee, niul sulise- 
fliiently (I liad almost s.\lil oonsocinintly) ilie lioaor of representing tho Uni- 
i-ersity. .V fact so gliiriag reiiulres iio comment. 



1806. 



nouns OF idleness. 

In vain, to cirivc thee from my breast, 
My tl)ouirijt,>j arc more and more reiircst; 
In vam 1 elieek the risin<,' si'dis 
Anotliur to the last replies : 
Terhaps tlijs is not love, but yet 
Our meeting' I can ne'er Ibr^^ct. 

What thonjfb we never silence broke, 

Our eyes a sweeter lan;,'ua;,'c spoke; 

I ho tongue i„ ilntterin- iaisehooil ticals. 

iViM tells a lale it iievei- I'ci'ls ; 

Deirit the j;uiity li|).s impart. 

And hush the mandates of the heart; 

Hut soul's interpreters, the eve-J 

Spurn suel. restraint, and scoVn llis.nu'so 

As thus our frlanccs oft coiiveised, " 

And all our bosoms felt rehearsed, 

No spiril, from wilhin, reproved us, 

Say raih.'r, •' 'twas the spirit moved' lis." 

Ihou-h what they utter'd I repress, 

Yet r conceive thou'lt partly ^^uess; 

For as on thee my memoir iwrnicrs, 

Perehaiice to me tiiine also wanders'. 

This for myself, at least, I'll say. 

Thy form appears throu-h ni-llt' throu'^h dav 

Awake, with it my fancy teems; " 

In sleep, it smiles in ileetin^' dreams : 

Ihe vision charms the hours away, 

And bids me curse Aurora's rav, 

For breaking;- slumbers of deli-ht 

Which make me wish for endless' ni'-ht 

Since, oh ! whate'er my future fate, "^ 

Shall joy or woe my steps await, 

rempted i)y love, by storms beset, 

Ihine ima;^e I can ne'er for^'et. 

Alas ! ajrain no more we meet, 

No more our former looks repeat- 

riien let me breathe this partiiiu- p,.ayer 

Ihe dietiite of my bosom's care • 

''May IJeavcn so fr„ard my lovclv CJnaker, 

1 lat ani,'-uish never can o'ertake lier • 

1 hat peace and virtue ne'er forsake her; 

Kut bhss be aye her heart's partaker; 

Oh may the hapjiy mortal, fated 

1 o be, by dearest ties, related, 

lor her each hour new joys discover 

And lose the husband in the lover! 

May that fair bosom never know 

\V hat, 'tis to feel the restless woe, 

\\ nich slm-s the soul with vain rcL-ret 

<J1 hill) who never can for-'ct ' " 



ZH^) 



25 



386 HOURS OF IDLEYESS. 

THE CORNELIAN. 

No specious splendor of this stone 
Endears it to my memory ever ; 

With histre only once it shone, 
And blushes modest as the giver. 

Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties. 
Have for ray weakness oft reproved me ; 

Yet still the simple gift I prize — 
For I am sure the giver loved me. 

He otfer'd it with downcast look, 
As fearful that I might refuse it ; 

I told him when the gift I took, 
My onl}' fear should be to lose it. 

This pledge attentively I view'd, 
And sptirkling as I held it near, 

Methought one drop the stone bedew'd, 
And ever since I've loved a tear. 

Still, to adorn his humble youth. 
Nor wealth, nor birth their treasures yield; 

But he who seeks the flowers of truth 
Must quit the garden for the fieltk 

'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth. 
Which beauty shows, and sheds perfume ; 

The flowers wliich yield the most of both 
In Nature's wild luxuriance bloom. 

Had Fortune aided Nature's care, 
For once forgetting to be blind. 

His would have been an ample share. 
If well proportion'd to his mind. 

But had the goddess clearly seen. 
His form had fix'd her fickle breast; 

Her countless hoards would his have been, 
And none remain'd to give thee rest. 



AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE, 

DELIVEREI) PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF " THE WHEEL OF 
FORTUNE " AT A PRIVATE THEATRE. 

Since the refinement of this polish'd age 
Has swept immoral railleiy from the stage ; 
Since taste has now expunged licentious wit. 
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; 
Since now to please with purer scenes we seek, 
Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek. 
Oh ! let the modest Muse some pity claim. 
And meet indulgence, though she find not fame. 
Still, not for her alone we wish respect, 
Others appear more conscious of defect : 
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold, 
In all the arts of scenic action old ; 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 337 

No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, 

No Siddons dnuv tlie sympathetic "tear ; 

To-night you throng to witness the debui 

Of embryo actors, to the Drama new : 

Here, then, our ahnost uiiHedged wings we try; 

Chp not our pinions ere the birds can fly : 

Failing in this our first attempt to soar, 

Droojiing, alas ! we fall to rise no more. 

Not one poor trembler only fear betrays, 

Whc hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise; 

But all our dramutis persona; wait 

In fond suspense this crisis of their fate. 

No venal views our progress can retard, 

Your generous jilaudits are our sole reward : 

For those, each Hero all his power displays. 

Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze. 

Surely the last will some protection "find ; 

None to the softer sex can prove unkind : 

While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, 

The sternest censor to the fair must yield. 

Yet, should our feeble ertbrts nought avail. 

Should, after all, our best endeavors fail. 

Still let some mercy in your bosoms live, 

And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive. 



OX THE DEATH OF MR. FOX, 

THE FOLLOWING ILLIBEUAL IMPROMPTU APPEARED IN A MORNING 
PAPER. 

" Our nation's Ibps lament on Fox's death, 
But bless tlie liiuii- when Pitt resifjn'd his breath: 
These tceliiiu-s wide, let sense and triuh unehie. 
We give tlie i)alin where Justiee points if s due." 

TO ■WIHICn THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT TUE FOLLOWING 
REPLY. 

O FACTIOUS viper ! whose envenom'd tooth 
Would mangle still the dead, perverting truth ; 
What though our " nation's foes " lament the fate, 
With generous feeling, of the good and great, 
Shall dastard tongues essay to blast the name 
Of him whose meed exists in endless lame ? 
When Pitt expired in plenitude of power. 
Though ill success obscured his il.ying hour, 
Pity her dewy wings before him spread. 
For noble spirits " war not with the dead." 
His frieiids, in tears, a last sad requiem gave, 
As all his errors shimber'd in the grave; 
He sunk, an Atlas bending 'neatli the weight 
Of cares o'erwhelming our conliicting state: 
When, lo ! a Hercules in Fox appcar'd, 
AVho for a time the ruin'd faliric rear'd; 
He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, 
With him our fast-reviving hopes have died; 
Not one gieat people only raise his urn, 



388 Tioriisi OF //)/,/•: v/:sn. 

All Europe's fnr-c\tomlin<r roj-ioiis iiidurn. 

"Those reeliii;i's wide, let sense aiul iriilli uncliie, 

To jrive tlie |i!ilm where .lustiee i>oiiits ii 's due : " 

Yet let not eiiuker'd t'nhnuny assail, 

Or rouuil our slnlesnieu wind her f^loouiy veil. 

Fov ! o'er whose eorse ii luouiiiini;' world must weep, 

Whose deur reniiiius iu honoi'M niiu'hle sleep; 

For whom, jit hisl, e'en hostile nalicnis firoiiu. 

While Irieuds iiiid I'oes idike his talents own; 

Fox shall iu Mritain's future auuals shine, 

JiJor e'en to I'ilt the patriot's i>;dm resij;n ; 

Which ICnvv, weai'iui;' ('andoi''s saered nuisk, 

For I'itt, and Till, alone, has dared to asU. 



TllK TKAK. 

" O liic-lirviiiariiiii Ions, iciicro sncros 
.Dui'culiiiiu orlMs cN inumu; qiiatcr 
Kcllx! Ill liiiii iiiii sciiU'iil.'iii 
IVcloiv tc, pill N'viu|il;:i, .soiisll."— OiiAY. 

WllKN Friendship or Love our sympathies move, 

Wiien Truth in a >ila.nee should appear. 
The lips may he<;iiile witli ii dimple or smile, 

l$ut the test of atleetion 's a Tear. 

Too oft is ii smile hut the hypocrite's wile. 

To iuasi< deti'slation or fear; 
Give UK' the soft si^ii, whilst the soul-lelliu;;' eyo 

Is (limm'd for a time with ii Tear. 

Mild Charity's <:low, to us mortals helow, 

Shows llu' soul from Imvharilv t-lear; 
Comjiassion will melt where tins virtue is t'elt, 

And its dew is dilfiisi.'d in a Tear. 

The man dooui'd to sail with the blast of the pdo, 

Through hiliows Atlantic to .steer, 
As he hcuils o'er the wave which mav soon he his grave, 

The green sparkk-s hrii;lii wi(h a 'Tear. 

The soldier hraves death for a faiuifiil wreath 

In (ilorv's roiuMutie career: 
But he raises the foe when in hallle laid low, 

And bathes every wound witii a Tear, 

If with high-honndinii' pride he returu to his bride, 

Ivenounein;^- the o'ore-erinison'd speai-, 
All his toils are repaid, when, embraiMUi;' the maid, 

I'^'om her eyelid lie kisses the Tear. 

Swci't scene of my youth ! seal of Friendship and Truth,* 
Where lo\c <'liase(l each fasl-lteeliiiL;' year. 

Loth to leave thee, 1 iiionru'd, tor a la-it' look 1 turn'd, 
^iut thy spire was scarce seen through a 'J'ear. 



HOIKS OF IhI.EXESS. 

Thoii<rli my vows I cuii |Kiiir to \n\ Mary no iriorc, 

My Miiry to love once so <l(:ir; 
In tlic sli!i(l(' of III!!' liowor I n'liicinhcr (lie hour 

Blic rewarded lliosc vow.s with a Ti;ur. 

By anotlicr jiossesl, may hIio live ever I)lest! 

Her iiaiiK! still my licart iriiist revere;: 
With a si^ih I resii^n wlial I onee tiioiixlit was mitin, 

And i'or;>ive her deceit with a Tear. 

Ye friends of my heart, ere from you f depart, 

'I'his hope Ici my breast is most, iK'ar: 
If a^.^•liIl we shall nu^et in this rni'al I'clreat, 

May wo meet, us wc part, with a T(;ar. 

When my soul win-rs her fli^jht to the re;,nonH of uh^hi 
And my corse shall recline on its \nv\\ " ' 

As ye pass hy the (onil) whei'c niv ashes consume, 
Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear. 

Ma V no iiiarhh? hestow the splendor of woo 

Vv'hich the childrcu of vanity rear; 
No fiction of fame shall hla/oii my name; 
All I ask— all 1 wish — is a 'i'ear. 
October 2<>, m)C>. 

Ki:i'LY TO ,so]\ir: verses 

OK J. M. 11. iMiioT, i:hq., on thk CRrjKi/rv or ins mistkichm. 

Why, ri;.'ol, ('omplain of this damsel's disdain, 

Why thus in dcsfiair do you frcl ? 
For months you nuiy try, yet, believe me, a si;;li 

Will never obtain'a coquette. 

Woiilil you teach her to love ? for a time seem to rove : 

At first she may Crown in a jiel ; 
But le;ive Ikm' awhile, she shortly will smile, 

Ami then you nuiy kiss your co(iuette. 

For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs, 

'J'hey think all our liomajf(r a debt: 
Yet a partial ne;^i('ct soon takes an effect. 

And hiimbh's the jjroudest co(|U(;tte. 

Dissend)le your pain, and lenjifhen your chain, 

And seem her haulcur to r(.'y ret ; 
If a^^ain you sIimII siyh, she no mr)re will deny 

Tliat yoiH's is the rosy c(j(]uette. 

If s'till, from false pride, your pauf^s slu' deride. 

This whimsical virjiin forf^et; 
8ome other admire, who will melt with vour firn, 

And lau;.^! at the little eoipiette. 

For me, r adore sonu; twenty or more, 

And love them most dearly; but yet. 
Though my hear! they enlhrajl, I'd 'abandon them all. 

Did they act like your blooniiu;^- c<M|iii-itr. 



389 



3i)0 nor lis or ini.rxEss. 

No loimiT ivpiiio, adoiit tins dosij-'ii, 

Ami l)i\":ik tliroujili lior sliuht-wovou not ; 
A\\;i\ willi ik'spjiir, no loiijior I'orln'iH' 

'l\> lly IVoiii tlio I'uptiuus coiinotto. 

'Plu'u (|nil hiT, inv fririul ! your l)osom (U'lV'tnl, 

I'.ri' ijiiiio w il li licr siiiUTs yon'iv lii'sol : 
Lost your ilcoii-wouiiiloil lioart, wlion iiici-iisoil liy tho smart, 

Should loiul you to curso tlu- ioi|Ui.ik'. 

( Mohcr 27, l.SOli. 



TO THE SI{}lIlX(i yTIlEniON. 

\oiM( jiardou, luy iVii-ud, it" my rliymos did ollend, 

Your iiardi>ii a tliousaiid tiuios o'or; 
I'^rom lVii'iidslii|i I si rove your panus to rouiovo, 

liut 1 swoar I will do so no niori-. 

Since your hoautilul maid yonr llamo has npaid, 

No moi'o 1 your folly roi;ri'l ; 
Sho 's now most divine, and I how at tho sluino 

C)l" this (piiokly rol'ormod 0()t|Uotto. 

Yot still I must own, T should novorJiavo known 

From vour vorsos, what oNo slio dosorvod ; 
Y'our pain sooniM so yroiit, I pitiod your I'alo, 

As your lair was so dovilish rosorvod. 

Sinoo tho halm-broathinu' kiss of this mai;ioal miss 

Can siioh wonilorful Iransporls prodiioo; 
Sinoo tho " world you forgot, when ycnir lips onoo have met, 

My counsel will j;et hnt ahuso. 

You S!iy, when " I rove, I know nolhiui;' of love ; "' 

"ris inio, I am uiviMi to ranu'o : 
If I riii'htly romenihor, I've loved a Li'ood number, 

Yot tlioro 's pleasure, at least, in a ehanuo. 

I will not aih aiuu-, hy the rules of romanoo, 

'!"(> humor a whimsical fair; 
'riioiii;i\ a smile may doli^hl, yot a iVown won't allrii;'lit. 

Or dri\e mo to droadl'iil despair. 

M'hilo my MiHiil is iluis warm, 1 no'or shall rel'onn. 

To mi\ ill tho I'lalonisis" sohool ; 
Of this 1 am sure, wore my passion so pure. 

Thy mistress would think me a tool. 

And if I should shun every woman for one, 

Whoso imaj;e must till niv whole breast — 
Whom 1 must prefer, and sigh but for her— 

M'hat an insult 'twould be to the rest ! 

Now, Stroi>hoii, ji'ood-bve; T cannot deny 

Your passion appears most absurd ; 
tfneli love as you jiload is pmi' love indeed, 

I'or il onh' consists in tho word. 



nouns OF //)fj:yESf}. 301 

TO KIJZA. 

JCi,i/.A, wliJil fools ant llut Mii^stiliiuiii so.ct, 

Who I0 woman ilciiy IIk: soul's I'liliiic; cxisfcrici! ; 

('oiilil lluty Ht:(; tlio(,', JOIi/a, IlicyM own tlicir dcrccl,, 

Anil this tloctrinc would inccl willi ii ncnorul resistance. 

IFdil their prophcl, posscssM half an atom of H(;ns(!, 
lie lut'er would have women from pai'iidi«e driven; 

llislcad of ins honi'is, a (linisy pretence, 

With women alone lie had peojjled his heaven. 

\'(\ ^lill, to iner<!ase your ealandlies inf)re, 

Nol coMlcnl, with ifepriviuj;' your liodies oC spirit,, 

lie allots one poor inisliand t(j share anion;_'sl, I'onr!^ 

Willi soids you'd dispense; Iml this last who eould bear it ? 

His i'eli;;ion to please neither party is rna,il('; 

On hnshands 'tis hard, to tin; wives most; niieivil; 
Still 1 can't contradict, what so oft, has been said, 

"Though women are an;^el.s, yet wedlock '» the devil." 



LAClll.N Y (iAIU.* 

AWAV, ye <,'!iy landscapes, ye ji'ardens of roses! 

In yon let th(! minions (d' luxury r(jv(!; 
]{(;store me liie rocks, wh(;re the snowllalce rr'|)oacs, 

Thouiih slill they arc sacred to l'ri-c(loni and love: 
Yet, (alcdonia, hclovc.d are thy mountains, 

Hoinid ihirir white; sunnrnls Ihout.'^h clemenls war; 
1'hon;;h calai'aets l'oa,m 'sicad oi' smootb-llowinji' fountains, 

I si;4h lor the valley of dark Loeli na (iari'. 

All ! there my youn<f footsteps in infancy wander'd : 

My cap was the boiin(;t, my cloak was the plaid; f 
(Jn chiettains lonji" perish'd my memory pond(;r'd. 

As daily I strode tbrou;;h \iic |»ine-i,'over'd j;lado. 
I s(ju^;ht not my bonu; till the day'- ilyin^f ^h'ry 

(iave pla<'(; to the rays of I Ik; brij^ht, polar star; 
For fancy was cii(;er'd liy traililional story, 

Ois(;lr)sed by the natives of dark Loch nu (jiaiT. 

" Shades of the d(;ad ! have I not heard your voices 

Kis(; on the ni;,f!it-rollin;^ l)r(;ath of the ^ale '( " 
Surely the soul of the h(;ro rejoices, 

And rides on the wind o'er his own Ili;4^ldan<l vale, 
liound Lo<:h na (Jarr while the stormy mist gathers, 

VV'intia- pr(;si(les in his cold iiry ear: 
Clouds thei'c (;neirele the forms of my fathers; 

They dwell in the tempests of dark Ijoeh na (iarr. 

* Larhhi y Clair, or, ns It is proiioiinccd In tlio KrNc, Lorh na flrirr, lowers 
iiruiiilly pn'-ciiiinciil In llie Nnrllicni IIIkIiIiiihIk, iiciir Invrrniiiilil. Oiii' oC oiii- 
iiioilcrii IdiM'lHtH iiicalloiis II lis tlu' lili{li<'»t iiKiiiiilalii, pi'i'liapn, In (in^al IIi'IImIii 
l!c llilx lis It may, il Is <;orliillil.v (iiu; of llio IllfI^t tiulilliiic anil plflnri-hi|ii • 
iiiii()ia,'hl 1)111- "Cnli'iionlau Alps." lis iipiiciinincc Is ot'it iliisky line, Iml lln- mmii- 
iiill is llii' Hi'al 1)1' I'liTiiiil snijw.s. Near liiiflilii y (lair I spriil .tonic oi' llic early 
purl III' my Ille, llie |-eei)lleetliin of wlileli litis ^,'Ivimi lilrlli to lliesr; kIiiiiziis. 

t '1 Ills woiil Is erroiieoiiHly piiinonneeil plad : lliu laopur liroiiunclutloil (ttc- 
uurdliiK lo llie Scotch) is hlioWii liy tlio ortliogrupliy. 



•,][)2 IlOrnS OF IDLEXESS. 

" Tll-stnrrM, tlioiiuh lirnvo, ilid no visions rurcboilinij * 

Tell > till IIkiI ImIc liiul I'orsalvcii \ our caiisf ? " 
All ! w'cr.' you .Ifsliiiod to .lir :il ('iilloaiMi.t 

\'i(torv crowuM not. your l';ill wilii Miipliiuso : 
Still wi-n- you liapi-.y in ilcatirs oiirlliy sluiiihcr, 

Yon ivst with your clan in the Ciivcs of Kriioinar ; J 
Till! iiihi'ocli ivsountls, to tlio piper's loud iuiiul)i'r, 

Voui' deeds on (lie odiocs ol' dark Locli na (iarr. 

Yonrs have voHM on, Tvocli iiaCJarr, sinco 1 K'I't yon, 

Yi-ars must, olapsi' oiv I livad you ai;:iin; 
Nature ol" verdure and tlowcrs has Itori'l't you, 

"^'el still are vou dearer than Alliion's |)laiii. 
El)L;iand! tliy l>eaiilies are laiiie and doniestio 

To one who has roved o'im- the iiiouiitaius afar: 
Oh for (he era^s that are wild and nnijestie, 

The stuci) I'rowniny j;loi'ies of dark Loch na IJarr! 



TO ROMANCE. 

Parent ol' k'oMi'h dreams, Koinaneo! 

Ausiiieious queen of childish joys, 
"Who lead'sl aloni;', in airy daiiT^ 

Thy votive train of i;irls and hoys; 
At Iciifith, in spells no Ioniser hound, 

I break (lie fetters of in\- youth ; 
No niori' I tread thy niystie round, 

lint leave thy realms for those of Tinitli. 
And yet 'tis hard (o (piit the dreams 

Which liaiint the nnsuspicioiis soul, 
\\'here every nymph a j;dddt>ss seiMUs, 

Whose eyes throiif;h niys immortal roll; 
Wiiile I'^uicy holds hcv boundless rei<,'n, 

And all assume a \aried hue; 
AVheii virii'ius seem no lon;:cr vain, 

Ami even woman's smiles are true. 

And must we own thcc hut a name. 
And from thy hall of clouds ,U-seeiul ? 

Nor tind a sylph in everv dame, 
A Pylades in every frieiul : ^^ 

* 1 nllnUi" I'lTo to my miitcniiil aiiccslors, " tlie dttriUins," miiiiy nt" wlmm 
foiijilit lor till' unrorliiMiitc I'rincc (■lKirU'>, licetiv Uimwii liy the Uiiiiic of ilu- 
rri'lciutcr. 'riiis lii-iiiii'h was iiCiUiy iiltird liy blood, us well as attacliiiu'iit, lo 
tlu> Sniiii'ts. (!i'ori;o, llic scooiul Karl ol' lliiiUly, mnri'li'il Ilio I'riiui'ss Aiiiia- 
lii'lla Slnarl, daii^tilcr of, lames t!u< I'irst el isootlaiid. liy Iut lie lelt tour 
sons; tlio third, Sir WlUium liordon, 1 tiavo the lioiior to claim as oiic ol' my 
progenitors. 

t Wlu'llier any porislu'd in tlu' ltatHt> of CullodcM, I am nut certain; but, as 
miiiiy fell ii\ tlii.' iiisurreclioii, 1 have iiseil the mniio of Iho priiuipal action, 
'• /iitrs />/•() loto." 

t \ iiact of the lli:4hlaiids, so called. There is also a Castle of liraomar. 

S It Is hardly necessary lo add. thai I'yladcs was the eoiupaiiioii ol drestes, 
aiid a parliicr in one of those frieiidshi|is which, with those of Ai-liiUcs and 
ratroclns, Nisus ami ICiiryalus, |)ainoii and I'yililas, have hecii handed down to 
posterity iis vemarkaldc iiislanees of attachmiMits, which in all pidhahiliiy never 
existed beyond the imaitinationof the pot't.or the pageof ini historian, or modern 
novelist. 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 3y;3 

But Icavf iit orifc tliy rcjilms of uir 

To iiiiii^ilin;,'- liiinds of fuirv lives; 
Confess tli;ii woman 's liilse :'is fair, 

And friends have fcclin;;' for — tlieiusclvcs ! 

With slianie T own I've felt tliy swity; 

IfeiientanI, now tliy reiyn.is o'er: 
No more thy preeeiils I oh(;y, 

No moic on fiinci(,'d pinions soar. 
Fond ford ! t() love a sparidinji' t'ye, 

And think that eye to trntli was dear; 
To ti-nst, a passing- wanton's siyh, 

And melt heneuth a wanton's tcarl 

Roniariee! disf^ustcd with deceit, 

Far from thy motley eoiiit I lly, 
Whei-c Atfcetalion lif)lds her seat, 

And siekly Sensibility: 
Whose silly tears can never How 

Foi- any pan^rs c\ce[>tiM<4- thine; 
Who turns asidt; from real woo. 

To steep in dew thy ^^aiidy shrine. 

Now join with sahle Kyin|iathy, 

With cypi'tfss crown'd, array'd in weeds, 
Who ii<'av(!s with thee hei- simple sijili, 

\Vh<»s(; hreasl for evciy l)osom bleeds; 
And call thy sylvan femah; choir, 

I'o iiiourn a swain lor ever j;orio, 
Who once (toidd j^low with eqinil tiro, 

But l)cmls not now before tiiy throne. 

Ye fjenial nymphs, whose reiuly tears 

On all occjisions swil'tly How; 
Whose bosoms heave with fancied fears, 

With fancif^d flames and frenzy fzlow; 
Say, will yon monrn my absent name, 

Apostate from your gentle train ! 
An infant bard at least may claim 

From you a sympathetic strain. 

Adieu, fond race ! a lon^r adieu ! 

The hour of fate is hovering- nig'h; 
Even now the i^ulf apjiears in view, 

Whei'c uijIiiMiented you iiuist lie: 
Oblivion's blackening' lake is seen. 

Convulsed by gales you cainiot weather; 
Where you, and eke your gentle queeu, 

Alas ! must perish altogether. 



:Y)1 iKuiis or 1 1)1. i:\Kss. 



ANSWKi; 'I'O SOME ELECAXr VKUSKS 

KNT liY \ i-i!ii;m> io •riii'. AUTiiOH, rown.viNiNi; rii.vr <>m-. or 
ma i)rs( Kii'TiDNS was katukk too wakmi.v i>h\\v.n. 

" »iit II' inn- oU\ huh, kiiljilil, prli'st.nr iilivsl.'lim, 
Slimil.l roiiil.'iiiii me tor iii-liilliii; :i si'imhhI ciIIIidh; 
II' Koo'l M.'iiliiiiU' S(iiiliilinii iii\ woiK sliiiiiM mIhim', 
Mil}' I M'liimi' Id K'vi' lii'i' a Munck ol' iiiv !ml^^■ 1 " 

.Yiir Hiilh (liHite. 

("AN'lxut iimiiH'ls nil', l!ocl\<'r! to cunuiu'iKl 
TIlc \iMsi' wliiili lili'iuls llu' ioii-.nr willi llu' iViiMltl. 
Your strong;- }i'l jiisl rt'|in>iiC cvltirl-* ii|iiiliius(- 
Fi'om 1110, llio hooilloss iiiul im|iriuloiit Oiiiiso. 
For lliis will! orror, wliioli |ior\;iilos my slniiii, 
1 siu- I'or piirdon- iniivi 1 siio in viiin ? 
'I'lio wiso somoliiuos I'rom Wisilom's ways (loi>!ir< : 
Ciiii yoiilli llu'M liiisli ilio (liotatos of tlio hoiirt ? 
l'rooo|>ls of iiriidoiu'o ourli, hiil <"!iirt ooulrol, 
'Vlw lioroo oiiiolioiw of lli.' llowiiiu' soul; 
^\'llol\ I.ovo's (loliriiiiii liaiiiils llio ^lowiiii;' luiiul, 
Liiniiint;' Ih'ooi'mu linn'i'is I'lir l>oliiiul ; 
"N'liiiily tlio iloijinl nu'iuls lior |>i'iitlisLLi>Moo, 
Oulstri|it iiiul \ ;iiuiiiisliM in tlio iiu'iiImI o1i;iso. 
Tlio voiiiii;', llio old, li!i\o worn tlioolmins ot' lovo : 
l.ol tlioso llioy iio'or ooiilinod my hiy roi'i-oNo: 
Lot tl\(>so whoso sonls oontomii llio iilo;isinu' powor 
Tlu'ir oonsuros on tlio linploss viotiiu showor. 

Oh! how I luito tlio norvoloss, iVijiid soni;', 
Tho coiisoloss oi'lio of tlio rhyiiiinji' tliron;;', 
^^'lloso luliorM linos in ohilliiiL;' nnmliors llow, 
'1\) piiint !i piiiii;' tho iintlior no'oroiiii kiuiw! 
Tho iirtloss llolioon 1 honst is youth; — 
IVly lyro, tho iioiirt ; my ninso,"tlio siniplo truth. 
Fill' ho'l from 1110 tho " virgin's mind " to " tiiiiil : " 
Sodiiotion's droad is horo no .stiuhl rostra int. 
Tho maid whoso virgin hroast is void ot' j;'iiilo, 
Whoso wish(>s diinpio in a modosi smilo, 
^\■hoso downoast ovo disdains tho wanton loor, 
Finn in lior virluo's stroiiDth, yot not sovoro — 
Sho whom a oonsoioiis ^rnoo shall thus roliiio, 
AN' ill no'or ho " taintod ' l>y a strain ol' niino. 
lint for liio nymph whoso proniatiiro dosiros 
Torinont lior liosoiii w ilh iiiihoty liri's, 
Is'o not to siiaro lior williii;;' lioart is spri'ad ; 
iSho would lia\o falloii, Ihoiiii'li slio no'or li:id road. 
For mo, I fain would ploaso tho olioson I'ow, 
Whoso souls, to fooliiiu' and lo iialnro triio, 
A\'ill spai'o tlio oliildish \ orso, and not dosirov 
Tho li.i^ht olVlisions of a hoodloss hoy. 
1 sook not ;;lory from tho sonsoloss orowd; 
Of faiu'iod lanrots 1 shall no'or bo proud : 
Tlioir wariiiost plaudits 1 would soarooly prize, 
Tlioir siioors or oonsuros I alike despise. 
IS'orembcr l!G, ISOti. 



/loi Its or /I )/./■: yi:ss. .'^;)r, 

r.I.KCV ox NKWS'I'F.AI) AliHKY.* 

" It Is till' \oU'i^ 111' yrnrn lliMl in'c ^oMc ! Ilic\ roll \ivUn-v. i<u- wllli . II lli.-lr 
(li'Cils."— Ohnian. 

NI';\vsti;ai) ! rMsl-lMlliii^-, ()iic<' rcsplciiilcnt doinc! 

Ifclioion's sliriiK^! i'('|ii'iit!iiil, llciii-y's priilc! -j- 
or wuri'iors, monks, luul diuiics tlic cloisdi'M loml), 

Whoso puiisivo HliadoH around lliy iiiins ^lidc, 

Hail to til}' pilo ! more lioiior'd in lliy ImII, 

'I'liiiii iiiDilcni iiiaiisioiis ill llicir pillarM sliito; 

I'l'Diidly iiiMJrslic I'rowiis lliy vaidli'd hall, 
Si'owliiij;' (k;liaii('c on Iho hhist.s of laic 

No Miail-clad scrl's, \ ohcdiciit to llicir lunl, 
111 o'riin iirra\' Ihc criiiison cross demand; ^ 

Or ;iay asscml)l<' round IIk; I'cslivc; hoard 
Thc^ir chicr.s rclaincis, iin iininorlnl hand : 

Else mioiil. inspiring'' T'^incy's mii;iii' c\c 

l{clriU'c llu'ir |)i'o;.''p(.ss ihroujili the lapse ol' lime, 

Marking' each iirdcnl youth, oi'daiii'd to die, 
A votive pilgrim in .ludcii'.s clime. 

But not from thee, ilark jiih; ! departs the eliieC; 

Jlis I'clidal rcaliii in other I'C^i'ions lay : 
In tlicc tin' woiniiled conscience courts relief, 

Hc'tiiin;; iVoni Ihe ;^n,riHh hlazi; ol' day. 

Yes! in thy '.'loomy ('('lis and shades proloiiiid, 
The monk ahjnrcd a world he ne'er coulil vi(^\v; 

Or hloo:l-slaiii'il "uilt reiientiiio' solace loniid. 
Or innocence Iroin stern oiipre.ssion IkiW. 

A nioiinrch hade thee from that wild arise. 

Where .Sherwood's outlaws (<nc<! were wont to prowl; 

And Superstition's crimes, of various dyes, 
(Sonnht sludler in the jiriest's prolecliny cowl. 

Where now the }jrass exhales a murky dew, 
Th(! liuniid pall of life-cxlinoiiisli'd clay, 

In sainted lame the sacred fathers ^rew, 
Nor raised their pious voices hut to pray; 

Where now the hats their waverin;^ win;is extend, 
Soon as the ^loamiii^' || spreads iicr waning' shade, 

The choir did oft their niinoUn;,'' vesjiers hl(;nd, 
()r iiialin orisons to Mary paid."!! 

'' As (iiK^ poi'iri oil tlilK Ktilijcil Ih iilrcady printed, tlii^ jiiillior liml, cirl^'liiiilly, 
no liilciitliill (if liiNca'lllii,' tliN piece. It is now iiiUlt'd ;il Ihc parlh iiLrr iiiiiR'Kt iil' 
some Irii^iidH. 

tllciiry II. Inaiidcd Ncwstciid soon nflor tiKMiiiirdcr ol 'I'Iidimiih a' I'.frki'l. 
This wiird Is used hy WiilliT ScdII, 111 IiIh poulil, " TIlo Wild IIiimImhimi," 

BynilMVMlllllN will) VIISHUl. 

§ Till' ri'd cnisH was Ihc l)iuli,'o of lli(> criisiidcrM. 

II As "KloiiiiiliiK," ihi^ Si'ollish won! Iin- IwlllHht, \h far iiioi'd poctlciil, and 
liiis hi'i'ii ri'coiiiiiic'iidcd liy many ciidnciil lilcrary men, piirlieiiliiily liy Dr. 
Moore ill Ills Leileis lo hiiriis, 1 Imvi' veiilured to ii»u it on iiteouiit ol IIh 
liiir.noiiv. 

J The priory was (hidiea'.ed to tli(! VIrKla. 



.'V.k; riDt us o/' iin.h.sEss. 

\ I'lir-i full nil \ riU'M ; to niXVH, ilifi'M viilil ; 

Aliliult |() iidliolH, ill II liiiii, sili'i'i'i'il ; 
Jtcli^iidii'-* ciiiii'li'r llii'ir |irii|t'ctiiin' sliit'lil, 

Till rnuil siicrili'^^e llu'ir (loom dfci't'cil. 

dui' hoh llriu'\ rraiM llu- (iolhic wiilN, 
Ami liailr llic iiioiis iniiiiiliw rc->l in in'iici'; 

Aiu.lluT ll.-in\ III.' Uii.l nW) rci'iiils,* 

Ami liiiN ilr\ diioii':, luillowM t'l'lioi's ctm.mi, 

\'llill is nicli llu'i'lll or Hlimilicillilij;' mavri'-, 
111' ilrivis llii'in ('vilcs IVoiii llicir hlcsl nlioiUi, 

To roiiiii 11 (Iri'iii'v worlil in ili'i'|i (U's|iiiir — 

.Nl> tVii'lul, no lioinr, no n I'llj;!' Iml tlli'il' (ioil. 

Hark how llic liiiU, I'fsonniliiifj' to tin' stniin, 
Sliiilvi'i willi till' iniirlial niit^ic's iiovrl din! 

Till' lu'ialil. ol' II warrior's luiiii^lity rcii^n, 

lli;.'li cir.lcil liiuiliri-, \\a\r lli_\ walU willlill. 

<>r I'iiiiii'^iii^' si'iilincls lilt' ilisliint liiiiii, 

'I'lir iiiii'lli ol' I'l'iiils, liio I'liinj;- of liiiriiisli'il ariu^i, 

The liriiviii;;' li'iiiii|ii'l iiiul ilio lioarsrr (Iriiiii, 
I'nilo in ronci'i'l willi int'ri'iisriljvUu'nis. 

An iililu'v oni'o, ii i't>;4iil t'orlrc-iH now, 

I'hu'ii'i'lcil liy iii'<nllin>;' rchcl |iowt'rs, 
War's ili'i'inl mui'liiniw d'orluini'' thy thrt'iiloniiif;' luow, 

Aiiil ilart ili'>lriii'lion in siil|iliiirt'i>iis sliowi'i's. 

.All, vain .Irrnii'i'! Ilir lioslilr Irailor's sii".;i', 

Tlioiij^li nil i'1'iiiil-.i'il, liy ^iiilc o'l'ii'inni's the hnvvo; 

His lliron^;in^! I'm's o|i|iii's-< thr railhl'iil lii'^f, 
Ivi'lu'llion's I'l'i'Uinj,' slimilai'ils n'or him wiivi'. 

Kot iiiiiiv I'liH'tnl tho riljfillj,'' Imron yiolils; 

Thi' lilooil of tniilors smears tlir |iiii|ili' |iliiin; 
llncomiiii'i'il sllll, iiis I'alrliion llicro he wit'lils, 

Anil tla\s of oliiiy yet lor hiiii roinain. 

Still in tlml hmii' tin' warrior wishM to slrtiw 
.Si'lf-^atln'r'il lanrols on a si'ir-sonn'hl uriivi': 

lint CharK's' iM'oli'clins;' (^'cniiis liiihor llcw, 

Till' moniiri'irs I'rionil, tho nnmiiri'li's lio|n', to save. 

Tri-mhlin^', slii' siuili'h'il liini tVom tlic nni'i|iial siriti'.f 

In ollu'i' llilils ihi' lorri'iil to n'|n'l ; 
l''or nolilrr roiiiliiils, lu'rc, rrscrN I'll his lili', 

■I'o K'lnl 111.' haml wli.'iv -oiUiUi- I'lilUlaml fi'll.!; 

* At the (llsMiliitliiii lit' till' iiumiiiiU'rltiit, llciio' VIII. lioHliiwoit Ntnviit(««(l 
Alilit'.v on Sir Joliii llMiui. 

t lionl livi'oM, mill lilK I'l'otlii'i' Sir Wlllliim, lu'lil IiIkIi I'oiiiiiiniulH In tho ro.viU 
iinii.N . I'lit' loi'iiitr \Mi'< Ki'iii'i'iil III rlilcl' In li't'liiiiil, lli'iilt'iiinit ot'llin 'I'liwor, uiut 
MiiviMiior to .liiiiii's, liiiKo ol VurK, aOi'i'wtniU tlu' inilump.v .liiuii'.i II.; tlu' liittiir 
liilil II |ii'liirl|>.il sliitri' III iiiiiii.v (ii'llxiis. 

t l.iirlii'< I'ln.N , l.iii'il N'lst'iMiiil KiilUliniil, tlio iiioNt itrruiiiiillslu'tl iiiiili ol' hl« 
iiKc, NMI1 Kllli'il ill llic liiilllo ol Ni'wiitii'.v, I'luii'iiliiK In tlio I'lmUk ol' horti Unroll'* 
ri'kiliiioiit ol' oiivtill'^. 



nouns OF idleness. 397 

From thoe, yoov pilf ! lo huvless nliitidcr fiiveii, 
Wliili; dyiii^'- frroans tlicir paiiiliil iviiiiicin wouiiil, 

Far (liticri'iil, inci-iisc now !i!«;on«ls to lioaven, 
Sdch vii'liiiis wallow on the ^wy ^iroiind. 

There many a pale and rntljh'ss rohhcr',- corse, 
Noisome and j-liasl, de/iles tliy sacred soil; 

O'er ndiifiliny man, and horse c'ommi <M with liorse, 
C'orruj)lion's heap, the savuye spoiloi-s troil. 

Graves, lonjr with ranlc and si,wiiin;i weeds o'erspread, 
Uansack'd, i'e>,i^n perforce tiieir mortal moidd; 

J-roin riitiian I'an^^s escape not e'en the Avm\, 
llaiced I'rom repose in search i'oi' hiu'ied ;4<j1<1. 

Ilusli'd is the harp, nnstriin'^- the warlike Ivre, 
Tiie minstrel's palsied hand recdines in (featli : 

No more he strikes the (juiverinj'- chords with lire, 
Or sin;;s the glories ot the martial wreath. 

At lcn<itJi the sated murderers, ftor^ed with picy, 

Retire; the (damor of the lifiiil is o'er; 
Silence a^rain resumes her awful sway. 

And sahle Horror t,Miards the massy door. 

Here Desolation holds Iier dreary coin-t: 
What satellites declare her dismal rci;i-n ! 

Shriekin;^- thcii' dirj.e, ill-omen'.l hirds resort, 
To lilt tli(;ir vii^ils in the hoary fane. 

Soon a new morn's roslorin<i- l)eams dispel 
The elouds of anarchy from liritain's skies; 

The fierce! usurper seeks \i[i native hell. 
And Nature triumphs a.s the tyrant dies. 

Wkli storms she welcomes his cxpiriufr groans; 

M'hirl winds, responsive, «reel his lahorin;;- lire.ath; 
Earth sjiudders as her caves receive his hones, 

Loathinj,'- the oUering- of so dark a (iealli. ■ 

The le^'al ruler now resumes the helm,t 

He f,'-uides throu;^!! jientle seas the ))row of state; 

Ii0|)e cheers, with wonted smiles, the peacefid realm, 
And heals the hleedin;;;- wounds of wearied hute. 

The ■,'-]oomy tenants, Newstcad ! of thy cells, 

IIowlin;i, resign their violated nest; 
Again the master on his tenuic <lwclls, 

i'"j"y''^') l'''<J"i aljsenee, with enra)jtured zest. 
Vassals, within thy hospitahle pale, 

I^ou<lly cai'ousinV, I'1<'n."I tlieir lord's return; 
Culture again adorns the gladdening vale. 

And matrons, onec lamenting, cease to mourn. 

• This Is an historical fact. A violent temppst oocin-r.-d irmiicdlulcly siil)so- 
.jueiitto iif. (If!iirli r,riri!cniji-iil .,f Ci^mw.il, wlii,:l, .,(<„»i„iir(i many diMnues 
IjetwiNMi „s imnis.iM. ;n„i ll„. ( •,,vali.-r,: l,„il, li.i.rpivK.,! n,i, cirouiiiblanoo into 
1 Ivmc nilcrpoMnun ; l,iil « IkiImt as approl.aii,,,] or (^oiiditmiiation, we leave (or 
tlX! cahidslh ol lliat a;.'.- u, il<;<:Wo. I liavu mudo hucii iim; oC llio o<-<iinvi]cc as 
sillied (lie sulijeet ol my i«>'jm. | Cliurics II. 



398 IIOl'RS OF IDLEXESS. 

A tlnnsnnd sony:>! '>n tuneful echo float, 
Unwonted i'ciliiiu'e niiuilles o'er the trees : 

And hark! the horns proelaiin a nieUow note, 

The hunter's cry hangs lengthening on the bi'ceze. 

Beneath their coursors' hoofs the valleys shake : 
What fears, what anxious hopes, attend the eliaso! 

The dying stag seeks refuge in tlic Lake; 
Exulting shouts announce the linish'il race. 

Ah, happy days ! too happy to endure ! 

Sueh simple sports our phiiii fore fat liers knew: 
No splenditl vices gUtter'd to allure : 

Their joys were many, as their cares were few. 

From these descending^, sons to sires succeed ; 

Time steals along, and Death uprcars his dart; 
Another chief impels the foaming steed. 

Another crowd pursue the panting hart. 

Ncwstead ! what saddening change of scene is thine ! 

Thy yawning arch betokens slow decay ! 
The last and youngest of a noble line 

Now hohls thy mouldering turrets in liis sway. 

Deserted now\ he scans thy gray wdTTV towers ; 

Thy vaults, where dead of feudal ages sleep; 
Thy cloisters, pervious to the wintry showers; 

'Tliese, these lie views, and views them but to weep. 

Yet arc his tear? no emblem of regret : 
t'herish'd afu'ction only bids them llow. 

Pride, hope, and love forbid him to forget, 
But warm liis bosom with impassion'd glow. 

Yet he prefers thee to the gilded domes 
Or gewgaw grottos of the vainly great; 

Yet lingers 'mid thy damp and mossy tombs, 
Nor breathes a nlurmur 'gainst the will of fate. 

Ilaply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine. 
Thee to irradiate with meridian ray; 

Hours s])lendid as the past may still lie thine, 
And bless thy future as tin- former day. 



CHILDISH RECOLLF.CTIONS. 

" I cannot but rcmcnibor siuli tliiiij^s were, 
And were most cluar to iiio." 

vriiEX slow Disease, with all her host of pains, 
^''hills the warm tide wiiii'b flows along the veins; 
When Health, afVrightod, spreads her rosy wing, 
And Hies witli every changing gale of spring; 
Not to the aching frame alone confined, 
Fuyielding ]iangs assail the dro(H)iug mind : 
What grisly forms, the siiectrc-train of woe. 
Bid shudiU'ring Nature shrink beneath tlie blow, 
With llesignatiou wage relentless strife. 
While Hope retires appall'd, and clings to life. 



nouns OF idlexess. 399 

Yet loss the piin^'' when, throutrli tlie teih'nus lioiir, 
Kcmeinhmueo sheds aroiiiul her <;'eiiiiil jmwer, 
Calls haek tlic vanish'il (lays to rapture f^iven, 
When love was l)liss, and heaiity i'orni'd our heaven; 
Or, dear to youth, portrays eaeh childish scene. 
Those lairy bowers, where all in tiu'n have hcjii. 
As wheal tiirouj^h clouds that pour the sunnner storin 
The orb of day unveils his distant form, 
tiilds with faint beams the crystal dews of rain, 
And dimly twiidvh's o'er the watery ))lain; 
Thus, while the I'litiu'e dark and chei'rless i^-leanis, 
The sun of memory, ji'lowin;^' through my dreams, 
Thoiijih sunk the ladiance of his former blaze, 
To scenes far distant points his jjaler rays : 
Still rules my senses wilh unbounded sway, 
The past confounding with the present day. 



Oft docs my heart indulge the rising thought, 
Which still recurs, unlook'd for and unsought: 
My soul to Fancy's fond suggestion yields, 
And roams romantic o'er her airy fields : 
Scenes of my youth, developed, crowd to view, 
To wliicli I long have bade a last adieu ! 
Seats of delight, ins])iring youthful themes; 
Friends lost to nie i'or aye, except in dreams; 
Some who in marble prematurely sleep. 
Whose forms I now remember but to weep; 
Some who yet urge tlie same scholastic coui'se 
Of early science, future fame the source ; 
Wlio, still conteiuling in the studious race, 
In (|ui('k rotation till the senior place. 
These with a thousand visions now unite, 
To dazzle, though they please, my aching sight. 
Ida ! blest spot, where Science holds her reign, 
How joyous once I join'd thy youthful train! 
Briglit in idea gleams thy lofty spire. 
Again I mingle witli thy jilayful choir; 
Our tricks of mischief, every childish game, 
I'nchangcd by time or distance, seem the same; 
Through winding ])atiis along the glade, I trace 
The social smile of every welcome face ; 
My wonted haunts, my scenes of joy and woe. 
Each early boyish friend, or youthful foe. 
Our feuds dissolvml, but not my friendship past: — 
I bless the former, tiiid forgive the last. 
Hours of my youth ! when, nurtured in my breast, 
To love a stranger, friendship made ine lilest; — 
Friendship, the ilear peculiar bond of youth, 
When (^vcry artless bosom throbs with truth; 
Untaught by worldly wisdom how to feign, 
And check each im)iulse witli prudential rein; 
When all we feel, our lionest souls disclose — 
In love to friends, in open hate to foes; 
No varnisli'd tales the; lips of youth repeat, 
No dear-bought knowledge purchased by deceit. 



400 HOURS OF IDLEyESS. 

Ilypoorisy, the i;ift of loii^then'il years, 

^Matured l>y n-xc, the j;ai'i) of jinukMiee wears. 

When now the hoy is ripeii'il into man, 

His careful sire chalks tbrlli some wary plan; 

Instructs his son from candor's initii to shrink, 

Smoothly to speak, and cautiously to think ; 

Still to assent, and never to deny — 

A patron's praise can well reward the lie : 

And who, when Fortune's warninji' voice is heard, 

"Would lose his opening" prospects for a word ? 

Although against that word his heart rel)el, 

And truth indiyuanl all his hosom swell. 

Away with themes like this ! not mine the task 
From iiatterin<; fiends to tear the hateful mask; 
Let keener hai'ds delight in satire's sting; 
My fancy soars not on Detraction's wing: 
Once, and hut once, she aim'd a ileadly blow, 
To hurl (U'lianee on a secret foe; 
But when that, foe, from feeling or from shame. 
The cause unknown, yet still to me the same, 
Warn'd by some friendly hint, perchance, retired, 
With this submission all hei- rage e\))ired. 
From dreaded pang's that feelile fotTTo save, 
She husli'd her young rescntnu-nt, and forgave; 
Or, if my muse a i)edant's |)ortrait drew, 
Pomposus' virtues are but known to few : 
1 never fear'd the young usurper's nod. 
And he who wields must sometimes feid the roil. 
If since on (iranta's failings, known to all 
Who share the converse of a collegi' hall. 
She sometimes trilled in a lighter strain, 
'Tis past, and thus she will not sin again, 
Soon must her early song for ever cease. 
And all may rail when 1 shall rest iu peace. 

Here first romemher'd be the joyous hand, 
Who hail'd mc chief, obedient to connnand : 
Who join'd with me in every l)ovish s])ort — 
Tlunr first ailviser, and tiicir last resort; 
Nor shrunk beneath the iijistart pedant's frown, 
Or all the sable glories of his gown ; 
Who, thus transplanted from his father's school — 
Unfit to g'overn, ignorant of rule — 
Succeeded him. whom all unite to praise. 
The dear precejitor of my early days : 
Probns, the pride of science, and the boast,* 
To Ida now, alas ! for ever lost. 

* Dr. Driiry. This most !il)l(> nnd cxooUcnt man rotirod fVnm his oitiiation in 
March, ISO."), nl'tcr liaviiif,' resided tlilrty-llvc years at Ilan-ow; tlie last iwcniy 
as hcad-iiiastor; an (vllire he held wilh iMpial hoiKir to himself and advania;;i' tii 
the very extensive sehool ovi'r wliieli he presided. raiie,i,'yi-ie would here lie 
siilierlhious: it ■woidd he useless to eiiinnerate i|iialillcatioiis u hieh «-ei-e never 
doubted. A considerable contest took place between three rival candidates tor 
his vacant chair: ot" this J can only say. 

Si mca cum vcstris valni,ssont vot.a Tclaspri ! 
Nou I'oret ambiguus lanti ccrtaminis hiures. 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 40I 

With liim, for years, we scai'cliM tlic classic pa<rc, 
Ami I'carM tlu; master, thouji'li we loved the sago : 
Retired at last, liis small yet iicacel'ul seat, 
From learning's lal)f)r is the l)lest retreat. 
Poiiiposus fills his magisterial chair; 
Pomiiosiis governs — liut, my muse, forbear: 
Contempt, in silence, be the yiedant's lot; 
His name and ])recepts be alike forgot! 
No more his mention shall my verse degrade — 
To him my tribute is already paid. 

High, through those elms, with hoary branches crown'd. 
Fair Ida's bower adorns the landscai)e round; 
There .Science, from her favor'd scat, surveys 
The vale where rural Nature claims her praise; 
To her awhile resigns her youthful train, 
Who move in joy, and dance along the plain; 
In scattcr'd groups, each favor'd haunt pursue ; 
Repeat old pastimes, and discover new; 
Flush'd with his raj-s, beneath the noontide sun. 
In rival bands, between the wickets run. 
Drive o'er the sward the iiall with active force, 
Or chase with ninjble feet its rapid course. 
But these with slower steps direct their way. 
Where Brent's cool waves in limpid currents stray; 
While yonder few search out some green retreat, 
And arbors shade them from the summer heat: 
Others again, a pert and lively crew, 
Some rough and tlioughtless stranger placed in view, 
With frolic quaint their antic jests expose. 
And tease the grumbling rustic as he goes : 
Nor rest with tliis, but many a passing fray 
Tradition treasures for a future day : 
" 'Twas here the gather'd swains for vengeance fought, 
And here we carn'il the conquest dearly bought ; 
Here have we lied before superior might, 
And hei-e renew'd the wild tumultuous tight." 
While thus our souls with early jiassions swell. 
In lingering tones resounds the distant bell; 
Th' allotted hour of daily sport is o'er, 
And Learning beckons from her temple's door. 
No splendid tablets grace her simple hall, 
But ruder records fill the dusky wall ; 
There, deeply carved, behold ! each tyro's name 
Secures its owner's academic fame ; 
Here mingling view the names of sire and son. 
The one long graved, the other just begun : 
These shall survive alike when son and sire 
Beneath one common stroke of fate expire : 
■ Perhaps their last memorial these alone, 
Denied in death a monumental stone, 
Whilst to the gale in mournful cadiMice wave 
The sighing weeds that hide their nameless grave. 
And here my name, and many au early friend's, 
Along the wall in Icngthcn'd line extends. 
Though still our deeds amuse the youthful race, 
20 



4{)2 nor US or /olhxkss. 

wild IrcMil our sU'ps, iiiul liU our loruiff |)l:ice, 
"Who vouul;' olicyM tlu'ir lords in Nilcut ;i\vv', 
W'liosi- noil coniin.'iiuli'd, iiml whose voico was law; 
And now, ill lurn, jiossi'ss llic reins of power, 
To rule the lillle tyi'iuits of iiii hour; - 
ThoiiL;li soiiii'tinu's, wilh the tides of ancient day, 
They pass the dreary wiiilt'r's I've away 
" And thus our former rulers steniinM the tide, 
.Vnd thus Ihev dealt the eouilint. side hy side; 
•lust in this plaee tln^ iiioiilderin^' walls tliey sealed, 
Mor holls \u)V liars against their strength avail'd; 
llei'i' I'roliiis came, the rising fray to (luell. 
And here lie falter'd forth his lasi farewell; 
And hero one ni^hl iihroud they dared to roam, 
While hold roinposiis hra\'ely stay'd at home; " — 
While thus they speak, the hour mnsi soon arrive, 
When names of these, liUi' ours, alone survive: 
Yet II lew years, one j^'enei'iil wreck will w helm 
The riiinf reinomhriineo of our fiiiry realm. 

Dear lionest I'aco ! thonji'li now wo moot no more, 
One last loii^' look on what we were heforo — 
Our first kind ;^reetiiiji's, aiul our last adieu — 
Drew tears l"rom eyes uiiuseil to wen]) wilh you. 
'JMirou^jh splendid circles, fashion's ;;iiudy world, 
AVliere lolly's ;;larinj;' standard waves iinfnrrd, 
I plnnucd to drown in noise my fond regret, 
And ail 1 sought or hoped was to forget. 
Vain wish! it chiinci' solium wt'll-remcmher'd i'aco, 
Some old compaiiiou ot my early ract'. 
Advanced to claim his friend with honest joy, 
!My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a hoy ; 
The j;lilterin^' scene, tlu' llatlcriny' ;;roups around, 
"Were (piite I'or^iotten when niv frieiul was found; 
The smiles of Iwiuity — (for, alas! I'vi* known 
AN'liat 'tis to Ix'iid hefori' Love's nii;;hly Ihrmie) — 
The smiles of heanty, though those smiles were dear. 
Could hardly charm me, when that friend wiis uoai": 
My lhon;:lits hewilder'd in the fond surprise, 
The wood ol Ida danci'd liefore my ovi's ; 
1 saw the spriu'htly wanderers pour alon^-, 
I saw andjoin'd a^ain the Joyous throng'; 
Pantin<;', a^iiiii 1 traced her lofty j^rove. 
And friendship's feelini^s triumpli'il over love. 

Yet, why should I alone with such deli>;iit, 
lletriice the circuit of my former lliji'lit ? 
Is there no cause heyontl the eommoii cliihn 
Endear'd to all in childhood's vi-ry name ? 
Ah ! sure some stroiiLicr iin|iulse vihrates here. 
Which whispers frieiulsliip will he douhly dear, 
'I'v oiii' who thus for kindred hearts must roam, 
And seek abroad the h)ve denied at home. 
Those hearts, dear Ida, have 1 found in thee — 
A home, a world, a paradise to me. 
ytern Death lorbiulo my orphan youth to share 



nouns OF id lex ess. 403 

The tendiM' fruidjuicc of a i";i11ier's euro. 
Can rank, or e'en a {guardian's name, supply 
The lo\(; wliicli ^ilistens in a lalher's eye ? " 
For this ean wealth or titli''s sound atone, 
Made, I)}- a ])arent's eai-ly loss, my own ? 
What brother sprinji's a iirother'slove to seek ? 
What sister's <;entle kiss has prest my eheek ? 
For me how dull the vacant moments rise, 
To no fond bosom link'd by kindred tics! 
Oft in the iiroj^ress of some tleetinji- dream 
Fraternal smiles collected round me seem; 
While still tlie visions to my heart arc prest, 
The voice of love will murmur in my rest: 
1 hear — I wake — and in the sound rejoice; 
I hear a;;ain — i)ut ah ! no brother's voice. 
A hermit, 'midst of crowds, J fain must stray 
Alone, tiiou^ili thousand piliirinis fill the way; 
^\'ilile tliC'ie a thousand kindred wreaths eutwiue, 
I cannot call one single blossom mine: 
A\'hat then i-eniain< ; in solitude lo ;iroan, 
To mix in fricndsiii]), or to sij^h alone. 
Thus must 1 cliun' to some cndeariiiff hand. 
And none more dear than Ida's social baud. 

Alonzol best and dearest of my frienos, 
Thy name ennobles liiui who thus comnu'nds: 
From this fond tribute thou eansi i^aiu no praise; 
The ))raisc is his who now that trii)ule pa}^. 
Oh! in the i)romisc of thy early youth. 
If hope anticipate the words ot' triitii. 
Some loflier bard siiall sinji' thy glorious name. 
To l)uilil his own upon thy deathless fame. 
Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list 
Of those wilii whom I lived supremely blest, 
Oft ha\e we (h-ain'd the font of aueii'iit lore; 
Though drinking;- <leeplv, thirst in;;- still tiic more. 
Yet, wiien confinement's lin;;ei'ing' hour was done, 
Our spoils, our stiulies, anil our souls were oue : 
Tof^ether wc imi)cird the tl3in^' l)all ; 
Together waited in our tutor's hall : 
Together join'd in cricket's manly toil, 
Or shai'cd ihe proiluce of the river's sjKjil; 
Or, pluugin;;- fromthe green declining shore, 
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore; 
In every clement, unciianged, the same. 
All, all that brothers should be, but the name. 

Nor yet are you forgot, mv jocund hoy; 
Davus, the harbinger of childish joy; 
For ever foremost in the ranks of fun, 
The laughing herald of the harmless pun; 
Yet with a breast of such materials made — 
Anxious to jtlease, of pleasing half afraid; 
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel 
In danger's path, though not untaught to feel. 
Still I remember, in thi^ iMcliiuis sti'il'e. 
The rustic's musket aim'd against my life: 



404 HOURS OF IDLENESS. 

Ilij^h poised in air the massy weapon hung, 
A cry ol' liorror burst from every tongue ; 
Whilst I, ill combat with another foe, 
Fouj^ht on, unconscious of th' impending blow; 
Your arm, brave boy, arrested liis career — 
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear ; 
Disarm'd and baffled by your' conquering hand, 
The grovelling savage roU'd upon the sand : 
An act like tliis, can simple thanks repay, 
Or all the lal)ors of a gratcfid lay ? 
Oh, no! whene'er my breast forgets the deed. 
That instant, Uavus, it deserves to bleed. 

Lycus ! on me thy claims are justly great : 
Thy milder virtues could my muse relate, 
To thee ;ilone, unrivall'd, would belong 
The fcelile ctibrts of my Icngthcn'd song. 
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit, 
A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit : 
Though yet in embryo these perfections shine, 
Lycns ! thy father's fame will soon l)e thine. 
Where learning nurtures the superior mind. 
What may we hope from genius th-M*-refincd ! 
When time at length matures thy jirowing years, 
How wilt thou tower above thy fellow-peers ! 
Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free, 
With honor's soul, united beam in thee. 

Shall fair Euryalus pass by unsung ? 
From iincient lineage, not unworthy sprung: 
What though one sad dissension bade us part, 
That name is yet embalm'd within my heart; 
Yet at the mention does that heart rebound. 
And palpitate, responsive to the sound. 
Envy dissolved our tics, and not our will : 
We once were friends — I'll think we are so still. 
A form unmatch'd in nature's partial mould, 
A heart untaiuletl, we in thee behold : 
Yet not the senate's thunder thou shalt wield. 
Nor seek for glory in the tented field ; 
To minds of ruder texture these be given — 
Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven. 
Haply, in polish'd courts might Jic thy seat. 
But tbat thy tongue could never forge deceit: 
The courtier's supple bow and sneering smile. 
The fiow of compliment, the slippery wile, 
Would make that breast with indignation burn. 
And all the glittering snares to tempt thee spurn. 
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate; 
Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate; 
The woi'ld admire thee, and thy friends adore ; — 
Ambition's slave alone would toil for more. 

Now last, but nearest, of the social band, 
See honest, open, generous Cleon stand ; 
With scarce one speck to cloud the pleasing scene, 
No vice degrades that piu'est soul serene. 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 405 

On tlio same day our studious race lie<rnn. 
On tlie same day out- studiou.s race was run; 
Thus side hy side we pass'd our first career, 
TIius side by sitlc wo strove for many a year; 
At last concluded our scholastic life,' 
We neither conquer'd in the classic strife : 
As speakers each supports an equtd name,* 
And crowds allow to both a partial fame : 
To soothe a youthful rival's early pride, 
Thouji:h Cloon's can<lor would the palm divide, 
Yet candor's self compels me now to own, 
Justice awards it to my friend alone. 

Oh ! friends vetrretted, scenes for ever dear, 
Remenibrance hails you with her warmest tear ! 
Droopinj;-, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's urn. 
To trace the hours which never can return; 
Yet with the retrospection loves to dwell, 
And soolhe the sorrows of her last farewell! 
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind, 
As infant laurels round my head were twined, 
When Probus' praise repaid my lyric song. 
Or placed me hijrlicr in the studious throng; 
Or when my first harangue received applause. 
His sage instruction the primeval cause. 
What gi'atitiule to him my soul possest, 
While hope of dawning lionors liU'd my breast! 
For all mv humlile fame, to him alone" 
The praise is due, who made that fame my own. 
Oh ! could I soar above these feeiile lays. 
These young effusions of my early days, 
To hini my muse her noblest strain would give : 
The song might perish, but the theme might live. 
Yet why for him the needless verse essay r 
His honor'd name requires no vain displaj^ : 
By every son of grateful Ida blest. 
It finds an echo in each youthful breast; 
A fame beyond the glories of the proud. 
Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd. 

Ida ! not yet exhausted is the theme, 
Nor closed the progress of my youtlifcd dream. 
How many a friend deserves the gratefid strain! 
What scenes of childhood still unsung remain! 
Yet let me hush this echo of the past. 
This parting song, the dearest and the last; 
And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy, 
To me a silent and a sweet emplov. 
While, future hope and fear alike unknown, 
I think with pleasure on the past alone; 
Yes, to the past alone my heart confine, 
And chase the phantom of what once was mine. 

Ida I still o'er thy hills in joy preside, 
And proudly steer"throagh time's eventful tide ; 

* This alludes to the public speeches delivcrcHl at llic school where the author 
was educated. 



•KJG iioi lis OF ii)i.i:.\i:ss. 

Niill iiiMN Iliy liliHiiuin;^' si>n-i lliy mmiiic rcvcfc, 

f^iiiili' ill lliy lidWiT, liiil i|nil llu'c willi a Iriir; — 

'I'lial tear, pci'liaps, the foiulcst whicli will How, 

()\t llii'ir lasl, sci'iii' dl" liiipiiiiu'ss lu'low. 

Tell nil', \v lioiirv few, wlio ^iTulc illoii;^-, 

I'll'' ri'i'liir viioraus of noiiio lornii'r tlironiv, 

AN'liDsc hiniils, liki- lUitiuiili leaves by tcmiu'sls wliirlM, 

Arc swcpl I'nr I'viT iVoiu llii-i busy world; 

l{cvol\i' iIk' iK'i'liiiji- iiioiiiciils 1)1" your Nuiilli, 

\\'liiK' Care as yi'l willilicld iici- vi'uuunl tooth; 

.Sa\' il" I'l'iiK'iiiiiraiu'i' days liko this I'udi'iii's 

lU'yoiid lilt' raiiliirc of siiccccdiii;; years ? 

iSav, can iiiiibilioii's I'cvcr'd dream licstow 

tso sweet a balm to soothe your hours ol' woe ? 

Can trcasuri's, boarded I'or some thankless son, 

Can royal smiles, or wreaths liy slauL;bler won, 

Can stars or ermine, man's niatiirer to\N, 

(V'or ;,litterin;;' baubles are not left lo))oys,) 

l{eeall one scene so ninch beloved to view, 

As tb.ost' where \dutli her ^I'ailaiid twined I'or yon ? 

Ah, no! amidst the u'loor.iy calm ol' auc 

You liirii with I'allerim;' band life's \arii'd piij^e; 

I'cruse the record of your days on ein'lh, 

\Insiillied only where it murks your birth; 

tStill linu'eriu;,' pause abo\e each eliequer'd leaf, 

And blot with tears the sable lines ol' ;;rief; 

\\'lu're I'assion o'er the theme hei- mantle threw, 

Or weepiiii;' N'irtue siu'h'd a faint iidieli ; 

lint bless Uie scroll which fairer words aikirn, 

Traced by the rosy linger of the morn; 

W'lu'ii l''riendsliip bdw'd before the shrine of truth, 

And Low, without bis pinion, smileil on youth.-*' 



ANSWlli; TO A iil'.All'riKUL POEM, 
KNi'i ri,i;i) "Till'; common i.or." f 

!MoNT(io\iici!V ! true, tin- comuuui lot 

Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave; 
Yet some shall ue\t'r be for^'ot — 

S(mie shall exist beyond the j^ravo. 

" I'ldviiown till' rk'L;ioii ot' his liirtb," 

'I'lie hero r.>lls the tide of war; { 
Yel no! unknown his martial worth, 

W liieh glares a nieti'or from iit'ar. 

* l/Aiiiltie est I'Amoiu- sans allrs," Is a l''ii'iiili iiruvcrli. 

t Willli'ii l>v .laiiu's iMoiUxoiiun-v, uiillior ol " I'lu' Wmulcn'r In Swll/cr- 
liiiitt," Ae. 

I Ni.iKu-llcular iH'i'o Is Iutc altu.lcil to. 'riu> <'x|itoils mI' ISiivanl, Nemmii's, 
Kilwaril llu' lUacIv rrliu'c, aiul In lum-i' imnleni llims ilio liiiiu' nl' .Mai-lliiiniiiuli, 
l''ioili'i'iek llu- lircat, Ciiiuil Saxe, Clmrlcs of Swi'ileu, ,V(.'., ai-e liiiulliar In evcrv 
lilsioiUat riiiitir, l>iit llir cxaet piiiees ol' tliulr bU'lli are luiowii to a very simdl 
lU'opol'tloii ot llieir lUlimi'LTii. 



180G. 



nouns OF idijixess. 4(^7 

Ilis joy or frriof, his wciil or woe, 

J'ercli.'incc; iiiiiy 'sciiiu; (Ik; int^i: (jC fiiliu; i 

Y(:(. iiiilioiis iir)\v iiiiixirii will know 
Tlic record oi his dcatltlcsH iiiiiuc. 

Till! ))!ilriot.'H .•iiid tlie poct'n fViiiDc 

Must shiuv (h(! (U)iiitii<)n loinh ol" iill : 
Their -ilory will not, s1l';,'1i tlic siinic ; 

That will iirisc, thou;^!! empires lull. 

Tlie lustre oC ii Ix-iiuty's eye 

Assumes iJie fihiistlv sliii'e of dciith; 
The i'liir, lh<! brave, the f^'ood must die, 

And sink the yawninjj f^ruvc heneutli. 

Onec mf)ro fli(! speakinj^ eye revives. 

Still Ixraniiui,'' lhrouj,''h the lover's strain: 

For I'elrarcii's Laura still survives: 
She died, hut ne'er will die again. 

The rollin^f seasons pass away. 

Anil 'rime, untiring'', waves his wing-; 
A\'liil-^t liouor's laurels nc'i'r decay, 

J>ul bloom in IVesh, unladin;^' spring. 

All, all must sleep in gn'm repos.e, 

(Collected in the silent tinnb; 
The old and ycMing, with friends and fr^s, 

Fostering alike in shrouds, coasuinc. 

The mouldering marble lasts its day, 

Yet falls at length a useless i'ane ; 
To ruin's ruthless fangs a prc'y. 

The wrecks of ])illar'd jjriile remain. 

A\'liat, though till- scidptnre h(,' destroy'd, 

l^'roui iliU'k oblivion mi'ani, to guard; 
A bri;jbt renown shall be enjoy'd 

15y those whose virtues claim reward. 

Then do not say the common lot, 

Of all lies deep in Letlii;'s wave; 
Some few who ne'er will be i'orgot 

Shall burst the bondage of the "i-avc. 



TJXES 



ADJOUESSEU TO TIIK KICV. J. T. lilCCIIKK, ON IIIH AUVX8ING TUE 
AUTHOll TO MIX MOKE WITH BOCIICTV. 

Deaii Beclier, you tell me to mix with mankind ; — 

I cannot deny such a precept is wise; 
l)Ut rclircmenl accoi'ds with the tone of my mind : 

J will not descend to a workl 1 ilesjiise. 

Did the senate or camp my exertions refjuirc, 
Aud)ition might prompt me, at once, to go forth, 

When infancy's years ol probation expii-e, 
Ferehancc 1 may strive to distinguish my birth. 



408 IloniS OF IDLKXESS. 

Tlip (ire ill \hc cavern (il' I''liia coiicralM, 
Stilt iiiaiillcs imsiH'ii in its secret ri'cess ; — 

At len^i'lli, ill a volume terrific revealM, 

No torrent can niieiicli it, no hounds can repress. 

Oil! liius, tlu> (lesiro in my bosom for I'aiiie 
I>i(l< me li\'r lull lo Iii)|k" lor )His|eril y's jiraise. 

C'oiilil I soar with the |iliu'iii\ on |>iiiioiis o|' Ihuiie, 
Willi him 1 would wish to expire in the hla/e. 

For the lil'e of a Fox, ol" a Chalham the death, 

What teiisuie, what daii'^cr, what woe would I brave! 

Their Uses did not end when they yicdded their breath! 
Their •;lory ilhiiiiiiies the yloom of their ^rave. 

Yet why should I iiiiii;^le in Fashion's full lierd ? 

Why crouch to her leaders, or criii'^e to her rules ? 
Why iiend to the proud, or applaud tlio absurd ? 

Why search lor ileliylil in the friendship of fools ? 

I have tasted tlio sweets nnd the hitters of love ; 

In friendship 1 early was taui;hl to belie\e; 
My passion the matron-i of prudence repro\e; 

1 have found that ii friend may prufeSs^yel deceive. 

To mo what is wealth ? — it may pass in an hour. 
If tyrauls prevail, or if I'oriiine should frown; 

To me what is title ? — the phantom of |)ower; 
To me what is fashion ? — 1 sei'k but reimwii. 

Deceit is a stranji'er as yet to my soul ; 

I still am unpractised to varnish the truth; 
'J'lien why should 1 live in a hateful control ? 
Why waste ni>on folly the days of my youth ? 
ISOti. " 1 



THE DEATH OV CALMAll AND ORLA. 

AN IMITATION OP MACPIIEKSON's OSSIAN.* 

Dkau arc the days ,<{' yoiilh ! Au'c dwells on their remembranee 
through (he mi>t of liiiu'. 1 ii the twili^'ht he recalls the sunny hours 
of morn. He lil'ts his spear wiih trcmblin;^' hand. "Not thus feebly 
did 1 raise the steel lii'lore my fathers! " Past is the race ol heroes! 
Uut their fame I'ises on the harp; their souls ride on the wiiiu'sof the 
wind ; they hear the sound through the siy'lis of the storm, and rejoice 
in tlu'ir hall of clouds ! Such is Calniar. The j;i'ay stone marks his 
narrow house, lie looks down from eddyiiiLr tempests : he rolls his 
form in the whirlwind, and hovers on the blast of the mouutain. 

In MorviMi dwelt the chief; a beam ol warto I'^inual. His steps in 
the iicld were marked in blood. I.ocldin's stuis had lied before his 
an;;'ry spear; but mild was the I'ye of t'ahuar ; soft was the llow of his 
ycHow locks, they streamed like the meteor of the niuht. No niaiil 
was the si);li of his S(uil ; his thonjihls were uiven to friendship, — to 
dark-liaireil Orla, destroyer of lieroes ! Eipial were their swords in 

» Tt mny be iii'ccssnry to ol>sorvo Hint tlio story, thousfli ninsiiloralily viiriod 
111 llio eatuslroplu'. Is tiilu'ii tVom " Nisiis iiiul ICiii-.Miliis," ol' whicli cpisoilo a 
ti'iiiisluliou is nlivaily li'voii in tlu' iirosoiit volume. 



iioi'iis OF n)L/:x/:ss. 409 

hattlo; but fierce was tlio pride of Orla: — f^'ciitli; alone to Ciilinaf. 
Tot,''('llu'i' lliey dwelt, in the cave of Oitliona. 

I'^'oni Locldlii, Swaraii boundt'd o'er tin; hliK^ waves. Ijin's sons 
fell lienealii his niijiiil. !'in;;al roused iiis <-Imi'I's to eonihat. Tlieii- 
ships cover liie ocean. Their hosts tlirony on tlie ;;reen hills. Tliey 
come to the aid of llrin. 

Nij;ht, ros(! in elonds. Darkness veils the armies : hut the hlazinj^ 
oaks fileam ihroiiiili the valley. The sons of I.oeidin slept : their 
dreams were of l)lood. They"lift the s])ear in thoiitiiit, a.nd l"inj:al 
Hies. Not so the iiosl of .Morven. To watch was tlie ]iost of Oria. 
C'almar stood by ids side. Their spears were in their liands. J<'int;al 
called his chiefs: tiiey stood aronnd. 'I'he kin;; was in tin; midst. 
(irav were his locks, hut stron;^ was tiic arm of the kin;;. y\u(. wiih- 
eri'd not his |iow(?rs. " Sons of Morven," said the hero, " lo-morrow 
we meet the foe. Hnt where is Unthnllin, the shield of JCrin ? lie 
rests in the halls of Tin-a; he knows not of our coming'. Who will 
sjiecd thron;:h Lochlin to the hero, and call the chief to arms r Tjic 
l)ath is hy the swords of foes; hut many are my heroes. 'I'hcy are 
IhundeHiolts of war. Sjieak, ye chiefs ! Who will arise ? " 

"Son of Trcnmor! mine IkjUic deed," said dark-haired Orla, "and 
mine alone. What is death to me ? I love the sleep ol' ihe nn^ihly, 
l)nt little is the dandier. The sons of Lochlin dream. 1 will sei'k caV- 
l)orne Cuthullin. If I fall, raise the son;;' of hai'ds; and lay me hv the 
stream of Luhar." — "And shah thon fall alone?" said' fai!--liai)ed 
Calniai'. " Wilt thon leave thy friend afar ? Chief of Oilhona! not 
feeble is my arm in (i;;ht. ( 'on'ld 1 see thee die, and not lifi the spear ? 
No, (Ji'la! ours has been tla; chase of the roel)uck, and the feast of 
siiells; ours be the path of dan^Tta- : onrs has been Ihe cave oi'Oithona ; 
ours be the narrow dwell in;;- on the hanks of Lubar." "Calmar," said 
the ('hief of Oithona,, "why should thy yellow locks be dnikcncd ia 
the dust of Erin r Let me fall alone. JVly falln'r dwells in his hall 
()t ail": he will rejoice in his boy; but the bhie-eycMl JSIora spreads ihe 
least for hir sou in Morven. Shi^ listens to the steps ol' ihe hunter 
on the heath, and thinks it is the tread of Calmar. Let him not sav, 
'Calmar has fallen by the steel of Lochlin: he died with ;;loomy Urfa, 
the chit'f of th(! dark brow.' Why should tears dim the ay.nre'e\e of 
Mora? Why should her voice curse Orla, Ihe destroyei' of Carmar? 
Live, Calni;«! Li\(! lo raise my stone of moss; live to i-cven;;(; me 
in the blood o( Lochlin. Join the son;;- of baiils above my ;;rave. 
Sweet will he the son;^ of death to Orla, from the voice of "Calmar. 
My ;;host shall smile on the notes of praise." "Orla," said the son 
of Mora, " could I raise the son;;- of death to my friend ? Couhl 1 ;;-ivc 
his fame to the winds? No, my heart woidd speak in si^hs: faint 
and broken are the sounds of sorrow. Orla ! our souls shall hear the 
son;; to;;cllier. One (-loud shall be ours on high : the bartls will niiii- 
<iU; the names of Orla and ( 'abuar." 

Thej (piit the cir<-le of the chiefs. Their steps arc to the host of 
Loehhn. The dying blaze of oak dim twinkles through the night. 
The northern star points the path to Tura. Swaran, Ihc; king, rests 
on his lonely hill. Here the troops are mixed; they frown in sleej); 
tlnar shields beneath tluar heads. Theii- swords gleam at distance in 
hca|)s. The tires are faint; their embers fail in smoke. AW is luish'd ; 
but the gale sighs on the rtx-ks above. Lightly wheel the heroes 
thnjugh tln^ slumlHU-ing band. Half the jourm'y is |iast, when Ma- 
thon, resting on his shield, meets the eye of Orl'a. It rolls in ilame, 
and glistens through the shade. His spear is raised on hiu;h. " Why 



410 HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 

(lost thou bend thy brow, chief of Oithona ? " snid fViir-haircd Calmar : 
" wc arc ill the midst of foes. Is this a time for dehiy ? " " It is a 
time for venjieance," said Orla of the jjloomy lirow. " ^[athon of 
Lochlin sleeps : seest thou his spear ? Its point is dim with the liore 
cf my father. Tlie blood of jSIathon shall reck on mine : Init shall I 
slaj' him slecpiuji', son of Mora ? No! he shall feel hiswouiul: my 
lame shall not soar on the blood of slumber. Rise, Mathou, rise f 
The son of Conna calls; thy life is his; rise to coml)at." JMathoii 
starts froiri sleep; but did he rise alone ? No; the liatherinjj- chiefs 
bound on the plain. "P'ly! Calmar, fly!" said dark-haired Orla. 
" Mathon is mine; I shall die in joy: but Lochlin crowds around. 
Fly thfouizii (he sliade of ni'^'ht." Orla turns. The helm of Mathon 
is cleft : his shield falls from his arm : he shuddt'rs in his blood. He 
rolls by the side of the bla/iui;' oak. .Strumon sees him fall: his 
wrath rises: his weapon j;litters on the head of Orla: but a spear 
pierced his eye. His brain jrushcs through the wound, and foams on 
the spear of Calmar. As roll the waves of the Ocean on two mighty 
barks of the north, so pour the men of Lochlin on the chiefs. iVs, 
i)rcaking the surge in foam, proudly steer the barks of the north, so 
rise tlie chiefs of Morveii on tlie scattered crests of I^ochlin. The 
din of arms came to the ear of Fiugal. He strikes his shiekl; his 
sons throng around; the people pour along the heath. IJyno bounds 
in joy. Ossian stalks in his arms. Oscar shakes the spcSr. The 
eagle wing of Filhiu floats on the wind. Dreiulfid is the clang of 
death! Many are the widows of Lochlin! Morveii prevails in its 
strength. 

Morn glimmers on the hills : no living foe is seen; but the sleep- 
ers arc many; grim they lie on Erin. The breeze of ocean lilts 
their locks; yet they do not awake. The hawks scream above their 
prey. 

Whose yellow locks wave o'er the breast of a chief? Bright as 
the gold of the stranger, they mingle Avith the dark hair of his 
friend. 'Tis Calmar: he lies on the bosom of Orla. Tlicirs is 
one stream of blood. Fierce is the look of the gloomy Orla. He 
breathes not; but his eye is still a llame. It glares in deatii un- 
closed. His hand is grasped in Calmar's; but Calmar lives! he 
lives, though low. "Rise," said the king, "rise, son of Mora: 'tis 
mine to heal the wounds of heroes. Calmar may yet liound on the 
hills of Morven." 

" Xevcr more shall Calmar chase the deer of Morven with Orla," 
said the hero. " What were the chase to me alone ? Who should 
share the spoils of battle Avith Calmar ? Orla is at rest ! Rough 
wa>, thy soul, Orla ! yet soft to me as tlie dew of morn. It glared 
on others in lightning: to me a silver beam of night. Rear my 
sword to blue-eyed Mora; let it hang in my cmptj' hall. It is not 
pure from blood : but it could not save Orla. Lay me with my 
friend. Raise the song when I am ilark ! " 

They arc laid by the stream of Lubar. Four gray stones mark 
the dwelling of OVla and Calmar. When Swaran was bound, our 
sails rose on the blue waves. The winds gave our barks to Mor- 
ven : — the bards raised the song. 

" What form rises on the roar of clouds ? Whose dark ghost 
gleams on the red streams of tempests ? His voice rolls on the thun- 
der. 'Tis Orla, the brown chief of Oithona. He was unmatched in 
war. Peace to thy soul, Orla ! thy fame will not perish. Nor thine, 
Calmar! Lovely wast thou, son of blue-eyed ISIora; i)nt not harm- 



nouns OF idlexess. 411 

less was thy swonl. It hanffs in thy cave. The ghosts of T^oohlin 
shriek around its steel. Ilcai- thy praise, Cahnar ! It dwells on the 
voice of the iiiig'hty. Thy name sliakes on tlio echoes of Morven. 
Then raise tliy fair locks, son of Mora. Spread them on the arch of 
the rainbow; ami smile tlironi,^h the tears of the storm."* 



TO EDWARD NOEL LONG, ESQ. 

" Nil ego contulerim jociinclo sanus amico." — IIohace. 

Deak Tjoii;x, in this scqiicstcr'cl scene. 

While all around in slund)cr lie. 
The joyous days which ours have been 

Come rolliu;^' fresh on I'ancy's eye; 
Thus if amidst the cathcriui,'' stonn, 
While cloutls the darkeuM noon deform, 
Yon heaven assumes a varied ylow, 
I hail the sky's celestial bow. 
Which spreads the sitrn of future peace, 
And bids !hc war of tempests cease. 
Ah ! tlioui^h the ]ircsent brink's Iiut pain, 
I think tliose days may come af,'-ain; 
• Or if, in melancholy mood. 

Some lurkin^i' envious fear intnule. 
To check my bosom's loudest thoufjht, 

And interru])t the j^'olden dream, 
I crusli Iho fiend witli malice fr.aug'bt. 

And still iuduljic my wonted theme. 
Although we ne'er ajjain can trace. 

In (iranta's vale, the pedant's lore; 
Nor throuc-h the ^z'roves of Ida chase 

Oiu- rapdnvd visions as before, 
Tbou;4li Voulh has llown on rosy pinion. 
And iMaidiood claims his stern (lomiuion — 
Age will not every hope destroy. 
But yield some hours of soi)er joy. 

Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing 
Will shed around some dews of sjiring: 
But if his scythe must sweep tlu; (lowers 
Which bloom among the fairy bowers. 
Where smiling Youth dcliglits to dwell, 
yVnd hearts with early rajiture swell; 
If frowning Age, with cold control. 
Confines the ctu'rent of the soul, 
Cong'eals the tear of pity's eye. 
Or checks the sympatiictic sigh, 
Or hears unmoved misfortune's groan, 
And bids me feel for self alone; 
Oh, may my bosom never learn 

• I fear Laing's lato edition has completely overthrown cverj- hope that Mnc- 
phcr.soii's Ossian iiilKlit prove IIk; triuislatioii of a series of poems complete In 
themselves; liiU, wlille tiie iinpostiu'c! is discovcreii, the merit of tlio work re- 
mains uiulispiUfd, tlioiigli not witlioiit f:uil(s— particularly, in some parts, ttu'^iid 
ami bombastic ili<-tioM. 'I'lie present luimbU' Imitation will be pardoneil by tlie 
admirers of the original as an attempt, however inteiior, which evinces an at- 
tachment to tlicir favorite author. 



412 iioi Its or ii>lj:m:ss. 

To sootlu- its wonted hceclless How; 
Still, slill (U'-i))isi' tlio c'oiisor sleru, 

lint nv'vv I'orj^i't iuioIIht's woe. 
Yes, MS yoii knew me in thi; days 
O'er wliieh llenienibi'iinee yet delays, 
[Slill may 1 rove, untntorM, wild, 
And even in aye at heart a child. 

Thonji'h now on airy visions borne, 

To yoii my sonl is still the same. 
Ot't h;is il, been my late to mourn, 

.\n<l nil my formei' joys are tame. 
But, hence! ye iiours ot' sable hue! 

Your IVowus an- j^ont', my sorrows o'er! 
lly I'verv liliss my eiiildhood kn("W, 

I'll think u|)on your shaile no more. 
Thus, when the whirlwind's rau'c is past, 

And ca\'i's their sullen roar enclose, 
We heed no more the wiuti'y l)last. 

When lull'd liy /.e|ibyr to repose. 

Full ol'len has my infant Muse 

Alluucd to love her hiui^uid lyre; 
J5ut now, wilhoul a theme to choose. 

The strains in stolen sijihs expirr. 
!Mvyonlhrnl uyuiphs, alas! are tlown : 

IC i.s a wife, and (' a mother. 

And Carolina si^■hs alone. 

And ]\Iai'y 's ^iven to another; 
And Coi'a's eye, wiiieh I'oll'd on me. 

Can now no umre my love rei'all ; 
In truth, dear Lon;^', 'twas time to lice; 

l''or ('(U'a's eye will shine on nil. 
And thoujjh the snn, with yenial rays, 
His beam alike to all displays. 
And every lady's (>ye 's a .tmi, 
These last should lie eonlined to one. 
The soul's meridian don't become her, 
Whose snn displays a f,'eneral summer! 
Thus faint is every former tlame. 
And jiassion's sell is now a name. 
As, when the ebbiny- llanu's are low, 

The aiti which mu'c impi'oveil their lijjht, 
Anil bade them burn with liereer ;^low. 

Now (itu'uchcs all their siiarks in ni;;'ht; 
Thus has it been with passion's fires, 

,\s many a boy and <;irl reniend)ers, 
While all the force of lo\ e expires, 

Extinj^uish'd with tlu' dyini; embers. 

15ut now, dear Loni;, 'tis miduinht's noou, 
And clouds obscure tlu' watery nu>on, 
\\'liose beauties 1 ^liall not reiu-arse, 
I)escrii)ed in every stripliu'^'s verse; 
Vov why should 1 the )iath j^o o'er 
Which every bard has trod before ? 
Yet ci'c yon sil\cr lamp of nin'ht 



nouns OF IDLEXESS. 413 

Has thrici! pcrfonnM her stiitcil roiiinl, 
Has tlirice retraced lier path ol" li^lil, 

AikI cliiised iiway the ^looiii proloiiiKl, 
I trust tliat we, my {4'eiilh^ iVieiiil, 
Hliall set! lier rolliiii;' orhit, wend 
Ahove tlie dear-loved peaeel'ul seal 
Whieli once eoiilain'd our youth's retreat; 
And then witli those our eliildhood knew, 
We'll niinjilc in tiie iestivt; erew; 
Wliile iiiajiy a, tale olToriiier diiy 
Siiail wiii;^' the ]aiijiliiii<;' hoiii's away; 
And all the (low f)i' soul shall pour 
The Siicivd intellectual shower, 
Nor ceas(! till Luna's waning'' hoi'n 
Scarce glimmers through the mist of mora, 



TO A LADY. 

On! had my fate l)eeti Join'd with thine, 
As-onee this pledi,''e appear'd a token, 

These follies had not then heen mine. 
For then my peace had not heen hi'okcn. 

To thee these early faults I owe. 

To i\\vx\, the wise and old reproviilLT: 

They know my sins, hut do not know 

"I'was tliine to break the bonds of lovin;^. 

For once my soul, like thine, was ))ui'e, 
And all its rising' tires could smother; 

But now tliy vows no more endure, 
Eestow'd hy thee upon another. 

Perhaps his peace I could destroy. 
And spoil the blisses that await him; 

Yet let my rival smile in joy, 

For thy dear sake I caimot hate him. 

Ah ! since thy angel form is gone, 
My lieart no more can rest with any; 

But what it sought in thee alone. 
Attempts, alas! to find in many, 

Tlicn fare thee well, det^eitful maid! 

'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee; 
Nor Hope, nor ,^[emo^y yield their aid, 

But Pride may teach nu' to foi-get thee. 

Yet all this giddy waste of years. 

This tiresome round of ))alling pleasures; 

Tliese varied loves, these matrons' fears, 

These thoughtless strains to passion's measures — 

If thou wcrt mine, had all heen liush'd : — 
This cheek, now i)ale from early riot. 

With passion's hectic ne'er had liush'd. 
But bloom'd in calm domestic quiet. 



414 HOURS OF IDLEyESS. 

Yes, once the rural scene was sweet, 
For Nature seera'd to smile before thee; 

And once mj' breast ahhorr'd deceit — 
For then it beat but to adore thee. 

But now I seek for other joys : 
To think would drive my soul to madness; 

In thoughtless throngs and empty noise, 
I conquer half my Ijosom's sadness. 

Yet, even in these a thought will steal. 
In spite of eveiy vain endeavor — 

And fiends might pity what I feel — 
To know that thou art lost for ever. 



I WOULD I WERE A CARELESS CHILDo 

I WOULD I were a careless child. 

Still dwelling in mj' Highland cave. 
Or roaming through the dusky wild, 

Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave; 
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride*. 

Accords not witli the free-born soul. 
Which loves the mountain's craggy^side. 

And seeks the rocks where billows roll. 

Foi-tune ! take back these cultured lands. 

Take back this name of splendid sound .' 
I hate the touch of servile hands, 

I hate tlic slaves that cringe around. 
Place me along the rocks I love, 

Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar: 
I ask l)ut this — again to rove 

Through scenes my youth had known before. 

Few are my years, and yet I feel 

The world was ne'er design'd for me : 
Ah! wliy do darkening sliades conceal 

The liour when man must cease to be ? 
Once I beheld a splendid dream, 

A visionary scene of bliss ! 
Truth ! — wherefore did thy liated lieam 

Awake me to a world like this ? 

I loved— but those I loved are gone ; 

Had friends — my early frienils are fled : 
How cheerless feels the heart alone 

When all its former hopes are dead ! 
Though gay companions o'er the bowl 

Dispel awhile the sense of ill ; 
Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul, 

The heart — the heart — is lonely stiU. 

How dull ! to hear the voice of those 
Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power, 

Have made, though neither friends nor foes, 
Associates of the festive hour. 

Sassenach, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, signifj-ing either Lo^vli^nd or English' 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 415 

Give me again a faithful few, 

In years and feelings still the same, 
And I will fly the midnight crew, 

Where boisterous joy is but a name. 

And woman, lovely woman ! thou. 

My iiope, ni}- coinforter, my all ! 
How cold must be my bosom now, 

When e'en thy smiles begin to pall ! 
Without a sigh would 1 resitin 

This busj' scene of splendid woe. 
To make that calm contentment mine. 

Which virtue knows, or seems to know. 

Fain would I fly the haunts of men — 

I seek to shun, not hate mankind ; 
My breast requires the sullen glen. 

Whose gloom may suit a darkeu'd mind. 
Oh that to mc the wings were given 

Which bear the turtle to her nest! 
Then would I cleave the vault of heaven, 

To flee away, and be at rest.* 



WHEN I ROVED A YOUNG HIGHLANDER. 

When I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath, 

And climh'd thy steep summit, O Morven of snow ! f 
To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath. 

Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below,^ 
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear, 

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew. 
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear ; 

Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you ? 

Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name — 

W^hat passion can dwell in the heart of a child ? 
But still I perceive an emotion the same 

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild : 
One image alone on my bosom impress'tl, 

I loved m}' bleak regions, nor panted for new ; 
And few were my wants, for my wislies were bless'd; 

And pure were my thoughts, 'for my soul was with you. 

I arose with the dawn ; with my dog as m}' guide, 
From mountain to mountain I bounded along; 

I breasted the billows of Dee's rushing tide,\^ "^ 
And heard at a distance the Highlander's song : 

» " And 1 said, that I had wings like a dove ! for then would I fly away, and 
6c at rest. ■—I'xalin Iv. 6. This verse also constitutes a part of the most beauti, 
tul antliem in our language. 

t Jlorvcn, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire. " Gormal of snow,'' is an ex- 
pression frequently to be found in Ossian. 

t This will not appear e.Ktraordinary to those who have been accustomed to 
the mountains. It is by no means uncommon, on attaining the top of I5en-e-vis 
I5en-y-l3ourd, Ac., to perceive, between the summit and the valley, clouds pour-' 
iiig down ram, and occasionally accompanied by liglitning, while the spectator 
literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure from its effects. 

§ " Breasting the lofty surge."— SiiAKSPEAKK. The Dee is a beautiful river, 
which rises near Mar Lodge, and falls into the sea at Xew Aberdeen. 



416 nouns of idleness. 

At eve, on my heath-covcr'cl couch of repose, 

No dreams, save of !Mary, were spread to my view, 

And warm to the skies my devotions arose. 

For the tirst of my prayei's was a blessing on you. 

I left my bleak home, and my visions arc pone ; 

The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more; 
As the last of my race, I must wither alone, 

And dclif^lit but in days I have witness'd before: 
Ah! splendor has raised, but embitter'd my lot; 

More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew; 
Thoug-h my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not forgot; 

Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with j'ou. 

When I see some dai'k hill point its crest to the sky, 

I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; * 
When I sec the soft blue of a love-s])eakinL;' eye, 

I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene ; 
When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, 

That faintly rcscmlile my Mary's in hue, 
I think on the long Howing ringlets of gold. 

The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you. 

Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once more 

Shall rise to my sight in tiicir mantles of snow; 
But while these soar above me, unchanged as before, 

Will Mary be t!icre to receive me ? Ah, no ! 
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred ! 

Thou swcet-llowing Dee, to thy waters adieu! 
No home in the forest shall shelter my heail — 

Ah! Mary, what home couUl be mine but with you ? 



TO GEORGE, EARL DELAWARE. 

Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; 

The friendslujis of childhood, though llceting, are true; 
The love which you felt was tlie love of a brother. 

Nor less the atlectiou I cherish'd for you. 

But Friendship can vary her gentle dominion ; 

The attachment of years in a moment expires; 
Like Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, 

But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires. 

Full oft have we wandcr'd through Ida together, 
And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow : 

In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather! 
But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. 

No more with atfection shall memory blending, 
The wonted delights of our childhood retrace : 

When pride steels the liosom, the heart is unbending, 
And what would be justice appears a disgrace. 

♦ Colbleen is a mountain near tlie verge of the Highlands, not far ft-om thfc 
ruins of Dee Castle. 



HOURS OF IDLEXESS. 41 7 

However, dear George, for I still must esteem you — 

The few whom I love I can never upbraid — 
The chance which has lost may in future redeem you, 

Repeutaucc will cancel the vow you have made. 

I will not complain, and thong^h chill'd is aflfcction, 
With me no corroding' resentment shall live : 

My bosom is cahn'd by the simple reflection, 

That both may be wrong, and that both should forgive. 

You knew that my soul, that my heart, ray existence. 
If danger demanded, were wholly your own ; 

You knew nic unalter'd by years or b}' distance, 
Devoted to love and to friendship alone. 

You knew — but away with the vain retrospection ! 

The bond of affection no longer endures ; 
Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, 

And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours. 

For the present, we part — I will hope not for ever; 

For time and regret will restore you at last. 
To forget our dissension we both should endeavor, 

I ask no atonement, but days like the past. 



TO THE ExiRL OF CLARE. 

" Tu semper amoris 
Sis memor, et caricomitis iie absceilat imago." 

Val. Flac. 

Friend of my youth ! when young we roved, 
Like striplings, mutually beloved, 

With friendship's purest glow, 
The bliss which wing'tl those rosy houi's 
Was such as pleasure seldom showers 

On mortals here below. 

The recollection seems alone 
Dearer than all the joys I've known, 

When distant far from you : 
Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain, 
To trace those days and hours again, 

And sigh again, adieu ! 

My pensive memory lingers o'er 
Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more, 

Those scenes regretted ever ; 
The measure of our youth is full, 
Life's evening dream is dark and dull, 

And we may meet — ah ! never ! 

As when one parent spring supplies 

Two streams which from one fountain rise, 

Together join'd in vain; 
How soon, diverging from their source, 
Each, murnuiring, seeks another course 

Till mingled in the main ! 
27 



418 iiorns of idlexess. 

Our vitiil >tivaiiis of weal or woe, 
Th(iUL;h near, alas ! distiuctly How, 

Nor miiiulo as before : 
Now swift or slow, now black or clear, 
Till deatli's unfathoinM gulf appear, 

And both shall quit the shore. 

Our souls, nij' friend ! -which once supplied 
One wish, nor breathed a thout;ht beside, 

Xow flow in different channels: 
Disdainiui:' humbler nn-al sports, 
'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts, 

And shine iu fashion's annals ; 

'Tis mine to waste on love my time, 
Or vent my reveries in rhyme. 

Without the aid of reason ; 
For sense and reason (critics know it) 
Have quitted every amorous poet, 

Nor left a tboujjht to seize on. 

Poor Little ! sweet, melodious bard ! 

Of late estecm'il it monstrous hard, 

That he, who sanu' before all — 5. 
IIo who the lore of love expanded — 
By dire reviewei-s shoidd he branded. 

As void of wit and mortiL* 

And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine, 
Harmonious favorite of the Nine ! 

llepine not at thy lot. 
Thy soothinif lays may still be read, 
When I'orsecution's arm is dead, 

And critics are forj^ot. 

Still I must j-ield those ■worthies merit. 
Who chasten, with unsparinLT spirit. 

Bad rhymes, and those who write them ; 
And thouuh myself may be the next 
By critic sarcasm to be voxt, 

I really will not light them.f 

Perhaps they would do quite as well 
To break the rudely soundinj^ shell 

Of such a young beginner. 
He who ortends at pert nineteen, 
Ere thirty mav become, 1 ween, 

A very hardeu'd sinner. 

Now, Clare, I must return to j-ou ; 
And, sure, ajiolugies are due : 
Accept, then, my concession. 

* These stanzas were written soon after the iipi>oar:uice of a severe critique in 
a northern review, on a new publication of the liiitish Anacroon. 

f A baril {horresco rer'erfiis) lielieti liis reviewer to niortiU eoml)at. If this 
example becomes prevalent, our periodical censors must bo ilipped in the liver 
Styx : for what else can secure them IVoui the numerous host of iheir enragej 
assailants? 



HOURS OF IDLENESS. 419 

In troth, dear Clare, in fancy's flij^ht 
I soar alon;^' from left to right ! 
My muse admires digression. 

I think I said 'twould be your fate 
To add one star to royal state ; — 

May regal smiles attend you ! 
And should a nolile monarch reign, 
You will not seek liis smiles in vain, 

If woilh can recommend you. 

Yet since in danger courts abound. 
Where specious rivals glitter round. 

From snares may saints ])reserve you ; 
And grant your love or friendship ne'er 
From any claim a kindred care, 

Bu.t tliose who iiest deserve you ! 

Not for a moment may you stray 
From trutli's secure, xinerriug way! 

May no delights decoy ! 
O'er roses may your footsteps move. 
Your smiles be ever smiles of love, 

Your tears be tears of joy ! 

Oh ! if you wish that happiness 

Y'our coming days and years may bless, 

And virtues crown youi- brow; 
Be still as voii were wont to be, 
Spotlesr' as you've been known to me — 

Be still as you are now. 

And though some trifling share of praise. 
To cheer my last declining days, 

To me were tloubly dear; 
Wliilst blessing your beloved name, 
I 'd waive at once a poet's fame. 

To prove a prophet here. 



LINES WllITTEX BENEATH AN ELM IN THE CHLTICH- 
Y.'^D OF HARROW. 

Spot of my youth ! whose hoary branches sigh. 
Swept by the breeze that fans tliy cloudless sky; 
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, 
AVitli those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod ; 
Witli those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore, 
Like me, the happy scenes they knew before : 
Oh ! as I trace again thy winding hill, 
!Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, 
Thou (trooping Elm !" beneath whose boughs I lay, 
And frequent mused the twilight houi-s away; 
Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline, 
But ah ! witliout the thouglits which then were mine : 
How do th}' brandies, moaning to the blast, 
Invite the bosom to i-ecaU the past, 



420 iKuns OF inij:xi-:ss. 

Anil si>iM\i to wlii-^iHT, :i< tliov ^oiitly swell, 

"Tiikt", wliili' llmii canst, gi liiiyi-riiifi', Isusi laivwoU ! " 

"Wlioii I'mIc sliall cliill, nt li-nptli, this IVvorM liroast, 
Ai\il cahu ils ('arcs auil passimis into ri'st, 
Ol'l havi- 1 lluuiulil, 'iwoiilil siiolho my dyin.-;- lioiu" — 
ir aaulit may sooilu' wln-ii lil'o rosin-ns lior jiowm* — 
To know siiiiu- luiml)li'r jinivi", somo narrow roll, 
"Would liiilo my liosom wlioiv it lovod to dwoU. 
AN'ilii this fond <lri'am, molliiuks, 'iwoiv sweet to die— 
And liere il liiiuer'd, liere nn liearl nii^lil lie; 
Here niii;lil I sleep where all my hojies arose; 
Seeiie of my yoniii, and eoiiel\ ot' my repose; 
Forever sii-eieliM luMiealh this nianlliiiv;' shade, 
I'ross'd hy the tnrt' where oiiee my childhood play'd, 
^\■^lpt hv the soil thai veils the spot I loved, 
]Mi\'d Willi the earlli o'er winch my footsieps nuned : 
lUest h\ ilie tonuMcs thai eharm'd mv youtiirnl eai', 
Mourn'd l>y llie lew my soul ai'kiiowledued here; 
l>eploreil hy lliose in \''arly days aUii'il. 
And unreiuend'crM hy I lie world bcsiilo. 
September 2, 1S07. 



ENGLISH BARDS 

AND 

SCOTCH REVIEWERS 

A SATIRE. 



' I had ratlicr be a kitten, and cry mew : 
Than one of these »ame metre ballad-moiiKcrH." 

KlIAKMI'EMSL!. 

' Such »)iamelcH8 hanlH we have; and .vet 'tlH true, 
There arc a« mad, abandon'd critlcM too," 

POPB. 



421 



PREFACE TO TIIE THIRD EDITION- 



Am, my frioiuls, Icanu'd ami uiiloanioil, liavo ursoil me not to piil)lisl'. thr 
Saliiv witli my iiamo. If I wore to be " tiini'd from llio career of my liimiov 
liy (Hiil)lilcs quick, aiul pa))er bullets of the brain," I sliould have complied witl 
tlicir counsel; but I am not to be tcrriflcd by abuse, or bullied by reviewers, 
witli or without arms. I can safely say tliat I have attacked none pcrsoiiat/;/ 
who did not commence on the ollensivc. An authors works arc public property ; 
he wlio purcliases may judge, and publish his opinion if he pleases; and the 
authors I have endeavored to commemorate may do by me as I have done" by 
tliem: I dare say tliey will succeed bettor in condemnhi}; my scriliblini^s than 
in mendiiij,' their own. lUit my object is not to prove that 1 can wrilc well, but, 
if possiOlc, to make others write better. 

As the poem has met with far more success than I expected, I have endeav- 
ored in this edition to make some additions and alterations, to render it more 
worthy of public perusal. 

In the First Ktiition of this Satire, published anonjinously, fointecn lines on 
the subject of Uowles's I'opo were written by, and inserted at the rcciiicst of, 
an ingeniiius friend of mine, who has now in the press a volume of poetry. In 
the present edition tlicy arc erased, and some of my own substituted in their 
stead; my only reason for this being that which I conceive would ov>erate 
with any other person in the same manner— a detennination not lo publish 
with my name any production which was not entirely and exclusively my own 
composition. 

With regard to the real talents of many of the poetical jiersons wliose per- 
formances are mentioned, or alluded to, in the following pages, it is presumed 
by the author that there can be little diftcrence of opinion in the public at 
large; though, like other sectaries, each has his separate tabernacle of prose- 
lytes, by wliom his abilities are overrated, his faults overlooked, and his metrical 
canons received without scruple and without consideration. I?ut the uinpics- 
tionable possession of considerable genius by several of the writers here 
censured, renders their mental prostitution more to be regretted. Imbecility 
may bo pitied, or, at the worst, laughed at and forgotten: perverted powers de- 
mand the most deoidod rcprolicnsiou. No one can wish more than the author, 
that some known and able writer had midertaken their exposure; but Mr. 
Gilford has devoted himself to Massingor, and in the absence of the regular 
physician, a country jnactitioner may, in cases of absolute neccs^lty, be 
allowed to prescribe his nostrum to prevent the extension of so deplorable an 
epidemic, jn'ovidod there bo no quackery in his treatment of the malady. A 
caustic is here olfored, as it is to bo feared nothing short of actual cnntery can 
recover the numerous pji.tionts alUioted with the present prevalent and distress- 
ing ralnc.t for rhyming. 

As to the Ediubr.rgh Keviewers, it would indeed require a Hercules to crush 
the Hydra; but if the author succeeds in merely " bruising one of the heads of 
the seri.ent," though his own hand should suflcr in the encounter, he will be 
amply satisfied. 

422 



ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH 
REVIEWERS. 



Still must I hear r — shall hoarse Fitzjrei'ald bawl * 
Ili-i creak i II jr eouijlcts in a tavern hall, 
And I not sintr, lest, haply, Scoteh i-cvicws 
Should dub ine scrilibler, and denounce my muse ? 
Pre)jai-e for rhyme — I'll publish, rijrlit or wrong, 
Fools arc my thcnie, let sutiix- be my sonjj. 

Oh ! natui-e's noljlest jrift — my ji'ray fjoosc-quill ! 
Slave of m^' thou<fhts, obedient to my will, 
Torn from thy parent l>ird to form a pen, 
That mijrhty instrument of little men i 
The pen ! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes 
Of brains that laljoi', \)]<^ witli verse oi' prose, 
Thou;;;h nvniphs forsake, aud critics may deride, 
The lover's solace, and the author's pride. 
What wits, what poets, dost thou ilaily raise ! 
How froquent is thy use, how small ihy praise! 
Condemji'd at Icnj^tli to be for;iotten (jin'te, 
AVitb all the ))a;res which 'twas thine to write. 
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen ! 
Once laid aside, i)Ut now assumed a^^ain, 
Our task complete, like Ilamet's shall be free; f 
Thou;rh spurn'd i»y others, yet beloved by me : 
Then let us soar to-daj-; uo common theme, 
Ko Eastern vision, no distemperM ilream 
Inspires — our path, thoufi'h full of thorns, is plain; 
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain. 

When Vice triumphant holds her sovereijrn sway, 
And men through life her willing slaves obey; 

* IHITATIOS : 

" Semper ago audit<^ir taiitum? nnnqnamnc rcpoiiam, 
Vexatus toties raucl Thescide Codri?" 

.JuvKXAi., Satire 1. 
Mr. Fitzgerald, facetiously termed t)y Cohbett tlio " Small Ueer Poet," inflicts 
his annual trilnuo of verse on the •' Literary Fund ; " not content witli writiiiK. 
lir- spouts ill person, after the company have irahihed a reasonahle (juiintity of 
had port, to cnahle tliem to sustain tlie operation. 

t (-'id Ilauiet liciiengeli promises repose to his pen, in tlie last chapter of "Don 
Quixote." Oil tliat our voluminous gentry would follow the example of CiJ 
Ilamet Ucncngeli ! 

423 



424 EXGLISIT BAUDS 

When I'kIIv, IrociiuMit liiirhiiiircr of crinic, 
TfiifdUN iuT iiioiK-y sioro ti> suit l!n' tiiiu"; 
S\'luMi kiiiivfs iiiuirool-; comhiiu'il o'cv iitl prevail, 
WluMi Jiislirc li.-ihs, ami rii;lit houiii-; to lail; 
E'on thi-ii tlio holdi'st start from )->ul>lic- suoovs, 
Afraiil of sliaiiu', imkiiown to otlur fears, 
!Moi-e (lai'klv sin, by satire kept in awr. 
And shrink' from ritlieule, tlioiiL;ii no! tVtnu law. 

Siieli is tlie force of wit ! Init not belong- 
To w.' llie arrows of satiric son.; ; 
Tlie royal vices of otir au'c demand 
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand. 
Still there ai-e follies e'en for me to ehasc, 
And yield at least anuisemeiit in the race: 
Laugh when 1 laugh, I seek no other fauu^; 
The cry is up, and scril)l>lers aiv my game. 
SjHH'd, Pegasus ! — ye strains of great and small, 
Ode, epic, elegy, have at you all! 
I too can scrawl, and once upon a time 
I pour'd along the town a Hood of rhyme. 
A sehooll>oy freak, unwt>rthy praise or i>lanic; 
1 printed — older children do the same. 
'Tis jileasant, sure, to see one's name in print; 
A hook "s a book, allhongh there 's nothing in't 
Not tlnit a title's sounding charm can sa\ c 
Or scrawl or scribbler from an ennal grax e : 
This I,aii\l)e nuist own, since his patrit'ian name 
Fail'd to preserve the spurious fai'ce from shaino.* 
IS'o matter, Oeorge continues still to write, t 
Though now tlie name is veil'd from pnl>lie sight. 
]Slo\ed by the great example, 1 inn-sue 
The self-same road, hnl make my own review: 
Not seek great .letVrey's, yet like him will lie 
Self-constituted judge of poesy. 

A man must serve his time to every trade 
Save censure — critics all are ready made. 
Take hackney 'd jokes from Miller, got by rote, 
M'itli just enotiLih of learning to misquote; 
A mind well skill'd to lind ov forge a fault; 
A turn for piiiuiing, call it Attic salt; 
To -letVrey go, be silent and discreet. 
His pay is just ten sterling pounds ]ier sheet. 
Fear not to lie, 'twill sicm a hicky hit; 
Shrink not ti-om blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit; 
Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest, 
And stand a critic, hated yet caress d. 

And shall we tnvn sueh judgment ? no — as soon 
Seek roses in necember — ice in June; 
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in ehatf ; 
Believe ii woman, or an eiiitaph, 

• This iuffoiilous youfli is nu'iitionod iiioro pai-titaliwly, with liis productioM, in 
anotlicr place, 
t In tlio " Kiliaburgli Koviow.-' 



AXD SroTC'II RKVIKWEUS. 425 

Or anv other tliiii^r lluit, 's fiilsc, huforc 
loii trust ill Clitics, wlio tiiciiisclvcH .-iro sore • 
Or yield one siii^l,; 11,011^1, 1 i„ |,e misled 
By Jettrey's hearl, or LiuhIh^'s IWoli.-ui Lead.* 
io those yoiin;r tyniiils, i,y themselves misplaced + 
Uniil.iiie.l usurpers on the liiroiie of taste- 
Jo these, when authors heiid in hiunhle awe. 
And hail their voice as truth, their word as law— 
VV 11 c these are eciisors, 'twould he sin to spare- 
VV liile such are critics, why should IforI.ear > ' 
JJut yet, so near all nioderii woithies run 
J is (loiihtfiil whom to seek, or whom to shun- 
JSor know we when to spare, or where to strik'e 
Our bards and censors are so much alike. ' 

Then shoul.l you ask me, why I venture o'er* 
The jiath that I'ope and (;iiror<f trod hefore ; 
n not yet sicken'd, you can still proceed • 

00 on : my rhyme will tell you as you read. 

Time was, ore yet in those dooenei-ate days 
Ijrnohle themes ohtain'd mistaken praise 
When .sense and wit with ))oesv ulli,.,| ' 
No lahlcd lii-aees, lloiirishM si,'|,. |,v side 
From the same Ibiint their inspiration dre\v. 
And, reaid hy taste, l.loomM fairer as tlu-y ^^,■c^y. 

1 hen, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure stniin 
bou^dit ihc rapt soul to charni, nor sou-ht in vain • 
A polish d nation s praise aspired to chiim 

And .-Mised lh(. people's, as the poet's lame. 
J.Ike hull -reat \)r\>\vx\ poiir'd the tide of son"- 
in stream less smooth, indeed, vet ilouhlv stron'r. 
J hen ( on-reve s scenes could {-heer, or Olwav's melt- 
J- or nature then an lin^flish audience felt, ' ' 

hni why these names, or f-reater still, retrace, 
vy iKfii all to leehler hards resifrn their plai-e > 
i ct to such limes our lin<rerin;r looks are (-ast 
vy hen taste and reason with those times are past 
Ivow look around, and turn eai-li trillim-- p-i>re ' 
Survey the prec-ious works that please the a"rc: 
Ihis truth at least let satire's self aJlow " 
^o dearth of hards can he complain'.! of now - 
J he loa<l(-d press hen(-atli her laix.r "roans 
And printers' ik-vils shake their wearv hoii'es- 
VV hile ,Southey's(-pies (-ram the (-reakintr shelves 
And J.iltle s lyrics shine in hot-press'd twelves. 
• Messrs. .JofTrcy niid Lamlifi aro Die Alnha and rimoi.-, ii,,. «... . 1 ^ . 

1 IMIfAlION: 

" Sttilla est Clemeiitla, cum tot ul)l<nic 

occurras pcriturai churta;." 

J Imitation: Jcvknai., ^'a^rc 1. 

" riir tamoii hoc IKjont potliis (lecincrc carniio 
1 or (|ii(iin niuKiiiis wiuos Aiininc.i. ricxu alimiiius- 
»1 vacut, ct placiUi rutloiicm adniilliiis, cdatii.- 

Jlvlnal, .Satire I. 



42G E\(^iJsii liiiins 

Tluis snitli tlio iiiTiii'hor; " Noujjht beneath the sp- 
Is new;"* \ el still iVmn eliiuij;v to ehsinji'e wo riui', ' 
AVhnt varied wonders leni|>t ns us they pass! 
Tlie eow-i>ox, ti'aelors, jjalvanisni, ami ;;'as, 
In tniMis appear, to make the viil;;'ar stare. 
Till the swohi hiihhle hinxls — and all is air! 
Kor li>ss new seluiols of I'oi-liT arise 
Where dull pretenders ;irapple for the prize: 
O'er taste awliile these p;endo-liards prevail ; 
Kaeli eonntrv IxHik-ehil) hows the knee to l!aal, 
And Inirlinji' lawl'ul i^enius iVoni tlie tlironi', 
Kreets a shrine and idol (if its own; 
(Some lea<len ealf-hnt wlioni it matters not, 
From soarin>;' iSonthey down to yrovillin>i' f>tott.t 

lieiiold ! in varions tliron^s the serilililin^;- erew, 
For notice eai;'er, pass in lon^' I'eview ; 
I'aeh spnrs his jaded I'episiis apace, 
And rhyme and blank maintain an etpial race; 
(Sonnets nil sonnets crowd, and ode on (>de,; 
And talei of terror jostle on the road; 
Inimeasin-able measures move alon;;'. 
For simperinn' follv loves a varied sonjj:, 
'I'o strange mysterlons dnlness stil]_tlie t'riend, 
Admires the strain slio eainiot eoniptvhend. 

Thus Lays of IMinslrels — may they be the last !— + 
On Inill'-strnnj;' harps whino mournful to the blast ; 

• Koeli'sliistcs 1. 

t Stott, lu'lttr Uiiowii III tlio " :\l.iniini,' IVxt " liv tlu' ninmi ol' IImiIz. Tills 
poi'siiii Is ill pn'scnt lilt' lllo^l proioiiiul i'\|iliiror oi ilio hiulins. I roiiH'iiiiu'i-, 
wlioii llu' i-i'l);iilM.« liinilh li'U rorliiyal, ii siu'cial >kU' oI'.Maslrr Sdilt'.s, iH'.uiaaiuti 
tims (StotI loiiiiinii- (|iiMiiil Hilicnilii):— 

■• I'lliiot'lv iillsiirliij; of llrii)rniizn, 
Kiln uTi'i'is iln'e Willi t\ Man/.a," .te. .'^o. 
Also a soiinot to Kals, wfll worthy of llio siilijwa; aiul n most tluiiuli'Viiii; oito, 
I'oaiau'iicliij; as rollows:— 

•• oil lor a lay, loiul as tlio siiiv<* 
'I'linl laslios l.aiitainls .soumlhiK s1ioih<! " 
l.oiil liavo moivy on ns! ilu' " Lay ol' llic Last .Miiisuvl " was nothtiii.' to tills. 

i Si'i' tlio " l.ay of llic Last .MInslri'l," /'iiss/»i. Never was aiiv plan so Ineon- 
Kinous aiiil alisiii'il as the mMinulwovk of llils prodiulloii, flie entraiiee of 
'I'liiiinler and LlKlilnln,« nrolotfiil/.tiii; to liayes' I'l-aiirdv, iinrortunait'ly takes 
awav the merit ot oiij;lnalltv tVoiii the dIaloKne lielween .Messieurs the .•s'i>iriis ol 
Klood and I'ell In llie first eanlo. 'I'lieii we have the anii;ilile William oi l>elo- 
I'aine, " a stark mossliooper," rii/<7iVt7, a happy eomponnd ol' poaelier, sheep- 
stealer, and liltlnv.ivman. The pivprlety of Ills miijjl.al l.idv's Ininnetloii not to 
read e.in only lie ei|iialletl liy liis eandlil aeknowledjimenl ol his Imlepeiulenee of 
file Irammels oi' speliiii:;, alllionuh, lo use his own elegant phrase, " 'twas his 
lieek- verse al Ilarriliee, " i. <■., I he uallow.s. 

The liiojii'aphy orcilplii Horner, and the marvellous ptxlestrlaii paj^', who 
travelled twiee "as fast as his master's horse, witlioiit the aid of seven- leaijaed 
hoots, are i-hrfs-dirin'ri' la the ImpiMvenient of lasii'. I'or liieideiit we iiave 
the Invisllile, Inil hy no means sparlnj.', liox on the ear heslowed on the paiie. and 
the eiitranee of a kiilKhl anil eliaruer Into the easlle, under the very iialuraldls- 
Kiilse of a wain ot li.iy. .M.irinlon, the hero of the latter romanee, Is .'xaelly 
what William of Petiiralne would have heeii, had In- lieen ahle lo rt'ad anil 
write. The poem was mannlai Hired for Messrs. foiistahle, Miiirav, and Miller, 
worsliipflil liooksellers, 111 eonsiderallon of Iho reeelpl of a sum of money ; and 
truly, eonsiderlmr the Inspiralion, ll is a very credilalile iirodiielioti. If .Mr 
Seoit will wriie for liiiv, let him do Ids hesi I'or his paymasters, hut noi disur.ieo 
Ills (jeniiis, wliieli Is iiudoiilitodly K>'^'at, hy n ropotltlou of blaek- letter liallad 
imitations. 



A\/) scoTf.'H ni:\ii:\\i:iis. 427 

Wliilc inoiitilfliu s))irilH prate to river sprifcs, 
Tliiil <liiiii(!S iiiJiy lislcii to Ili(! Hoiiiid lit lii;i'lits; 
Ami yolilin brills, ol'tiiliiin Iloniir's lnooil, 
iJccoy .yoiiii;,'' liordcr inililc-i Hjidii^Ii llic woikI, 
And sMp .-it every steji, Ijoril knows liow In'i^li, 
Anil rri;iiilcn foolish Indies, llie Lord knows why; 
While hi;;li-l)oi'n Indies in iheir in;i^;ie eell, 
]''oi-liiddin;,' kni^^lils to rend who eannot spell, 
I )isp:ileli a courier (o ii wi/.iird's ^;r;tv(!, 
An<l li;4lil vv'ilii honest men to .shii'lil a knave. 

Next view in stiite, prond pranein^r "ii his roan, 
The ;r"lden-erested hanj^hly Miirnuon, 
Kow I'or^in;; scrolls, now I'oriMnosI in I he )i;;ht, 
Not ipiile a I'eion, yet liiil half a kni;;ht, 
'J"he ;;i!il)el or the (ield prepared to ;|raee ; 
A )iii;,''iily nnvtiire of tJi(; (rreat and hase. 
And think'si thou, iSeott! I)y vain (ujiiecit pei'chance, 
On pnl)li<! taste to foist thy slide I'lmiance ? 
'I'hoii^^h Muriviy with his Miller niny •■onihine 
To yield thy nnise just h;ilf-!i-ci'owM pei' line ? 
No! wIkmi ihe sons (jf Hon;^' descend to trade. 
Their hiiys ai'e Hear, Iheii' I'ornier laurels fade. 
J>el such foreyo lli(! poet's sacreil name, 
^\'ho rack Iheir hi'ains for hiere, not foi- fiune : 
Low nuiy they sink to merited contempt, 
And scorn reniiiiierale Ihe mean !illeinpt! 
>Siich he their meed, sneh still the J^^t reward 
Of prostitntcil nmsc and hirelin;^ hiinl ! 
I'or this W(! Hpnrn Apollo's venal son. 
And hid a Ion;;' " fiood-ni^^iit to Marmioii." * 

These ai-e the themes that claim our pliiudits now; 
These ai'e llu! hards to whom llu; nnisi; nnist bow; 
While Milton, Diydeii, I'ope, alike for;ii)t, 
He.si^in their hall(jw'd hays to Walter JSeott. 

The tiin(! has been, wlusn yet the muse was yotini?, 
AV'hen 1 lorner swept Ihe l^re, and Maro snn;f. 
An <|iic scarce ten e(Md,nrie.s conld claim, 
While awe-strnck niilions hail'd the niii;;ic name; 
'J"he work of each immortiil h.ird iippciirs 
'J'he sin;ile wonder of a thousand years. f 
Empii'cs have nionlder'd from the face of earth, 
Ton;jites have expired with those who j;;ive them birth, 
Witiiont Ihe ;4lory such a strain can ^(ive, 
As even in rnin bids the l;in;juai;c liv(r. 
Not so with IIS, thon;;li minor bai'ds cinili.nt, 
On one great work a life of labor spent: 

• "Or)o(l-iil(,'lil to Mamilon "—till' inilliclli' mill iiIho proplictlc cxrliiiniitloii of 
Ilr-iiry I'.loiiiil, K«i|iilrr, nn llic (tciitli ol' lioiicsl .Miiriiiloii. 

t As Mil' " (lilvMHcy " Ih so cIohi'I.v roiini.cliMt wllli llii! Klory of till! " lllllll," 
tlii'V iiiiiv iiliiioNt 111' cliiHHi'il UK our Kl'iiuil lilsloi'jrnt |ioi'iii. Ill iilliiillliK to 
Mllloii iiiid I'lisNo, wi- niiisliliT llu: '• l';irii(llHii l,ost " mill " (JIitiimiIiiiiuic LI- 
liiTiilii," iiK tlii'lr Hlmuliii'it clliiiis. sliii'i' iii'lllii'r llio '•JiTiisiilrni ( ■oiii|iiriT(l " 
of till' lliillilli.iloi' Mil' " I'lii'iiiIlM' l{i-Killui'il" of llii' I'^iDilisli hiil'il, uhliillii'il a 
proiiorlloiiiili: i:fli-l)illy tu llntlr loriuiT powiTK. Qiii-ry : VVIili:li of Mr. .Siiiilju.'y'i 
frill DurvlvcV 



428 i:XGLIsn BARDS 

Witli caiilo pinion sourinir to the skies, 
BclioKI tlio halluil-inonum- Sonthey rise ! 
To liini let I'antuens, Milton, Tiisso vieKl, 
Whoso annnal strains, like urmies, take the field. 

First in the ranks see Joan of Are advance, 
The seouriie of Knu'land, and the boast of France! 
Thonuh hin-iit hy wi.'ked Uedl'ord for a witeh, 
Uehold her statue jilaeed in >:lory's niehe ; 
Her fetters hiu'st, and just released from prison, 
A virji'in jihu'nix tVoni her ashes risen. 
Next si'e treniendons Thalaha eonie on,* 
Araltia's monstrous, wild, and womlroiis son; 
Domdaniel's dread ilestroyer, who o'erthrew 
]More mad ma^ieians than the world ere knew. 
Immortal hero! all thy foes o'eremne, 
For ever reijiii — the rival of Tom Thnmh! 
Sinee start leil metre lied hefore thy taee, 
■\Vell wert thon doom'd the last of all thy race! 
"Well mii;'ht trininphanl -ienii hear thee hence, 
llhistrion> eompieror of eomnion sense ! 
Kow, last and i:reatest, Madoc spreads his sails, 
Cacique in Mexico, and prince in Wales; 
Tells us stranj^e tales, ;is other travellers do, 
!More old than Mandeville's, andnDt so trne. 
O Sonthey, .Southey, cease thy varied sonjxlf 
A hard may idiant, too often and too lonu ; 
As then ari strong- in verse, in mercy spare I 
A fonrth, alas ! were more than we could liear. 
Ihit if, in sjiite of all the world can say. 
Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way; 
If still in Berkley ballads most tincivil, 
T1k>u wilt devote" oUl women to the devil,*; 
The babe nnhorn thy dread intent may rue: 
"God help thee," Sonthey, anil thy readers too.J 

Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, 
That mild apostate from poetic rule. 
The simple Wordsworth, trainer of a lay 
As soft as eveninj;- in his favorite May, 
\Vho warns his friend "to shake olf toil and trouble, 

* "Th!\lalia," Mr. Soiitlioys second pnem, is written in open dotlanro of pre- 
BCdont ami piu'try. Mr. ."<. wlslicil to prodacp somotliiiist uovol.inul siu-coi'iloil to 
a luirjK'lo. ".loiin of .Viv" was marvellous cnoujili, bat "Tluilalia '" was one of 
those iioi'Uis •• wliicli," in tho words of I'orsou, "will l)u read whiai Hoiuor and 
Viriril are foixotteii, hut— ;iof ti/l l/ieii." 

t Wo liou' Mr. Soullicys paiilon ; " Madoc disdains the degraded title of epic." 
See Ids )irel':u'e. \Vliv i's epie de.ui-iided',' and by wlioniy Cevtainly the late ro- 
niaunts of Masters Collle, l.aureat I've, tv^dvy," Hole, and K'l'Utle ilistress (.'ow- 
lev. Iiave not exalted the eiiie muse; tint as Mr. Soulheys poem " disdains the 
iippelhuion," allow us to asU— lias he suhslituted anylhin^' better in its steadV 
or nuist he he eonlent to rival Sir Kiehard lUaekmoro in the iiuautity as well us 
tpialitv of his verse? 

i See •■ The Old Woninn of lUn-kley," a ballad by Mr. Southey, wherein an 
aged ;;entlowouiau is carried auav by Uoolzebuh, on a " bis;li trottiniJ-lioiwo." 

§ The last line, "I'.od help thee," is an evident plagiarism tVom the "Antl- 
Ja'cobin" to Mr. S<vutliey on his Dactylics. " GoU help thee, sillj- ouc."— Poetry 
of the "Anti-JacobuL," "page '.'o. 



AND SCOTCH i<E\ii:\yi:iis. 429 

Anil c|iiit liis t)()()k.s for fejir of j^rowinjj iloiiMc; "* 

Who, l)r)ili liy prccepi, iiiid c.viiiiipic, mIiow.s 

Tlial. prose is \i'rsc, iuid vor.st; is merely pro.se; 

Com iiicin^r jill, hy ileiiioristrjilioii pliiiii", 

I'oelic souls (lcli;i-li( in |)rose insane; 

Anil ( Inislnias Mtoi'ies loilinid inio rliyino 

Conlain llie esHi'iiee of llic Irne sublime. 

1'liiis, when \\i\ tells the tiihr of lietty Voy, 

1'he idiot mother of "an idiot lioy," 

A nioon-strui'k, silly lad, who lost. Ins w.iy. 

And, like his hard,'eonfonnded ni;;li( with day ; f 

(So close on each ))iiliii'lie part Ik; dwells, 

And each adventure so suhlimely l<dls, 

'J'liat all who view the " idiot in his ;,'-|orv," 

Coneeive tin; hard die hero of the story.' 

Shall gentle (.'ole'rid^ii; pass untiolie(;d here, 
To lur^^id ode and tumid stanza dear.'' 
'rhou;ih themes of innocence iininse him best, 
Yet '.still ohseiirily's a welcome tiiiost. 
Jf Inspiration should her aid refuse 
. c In'ni who takes a pi.vy foi' a muse, J 
V<'f. noni' in loi'ly ninnliei-s can Mirpiws 
The hai'd who soar.s to e!e;i'ize an iiss. 
(low well the .sidijeel, suits his nohle mind! 
'A I'ellow-feelinj^ inakcH iih wondrous kind." 

Oh! wonder-woi-kin<r Jjcwis! monk, or hard. 
Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a churchyard! 
Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, hind thy hr'ow, 
'J'hy muse a spriie, Apollo'.s He\lon IIhju ! 
Whether (jii ancient lornhs thou tak'st thy stand, 
By ^ihheriii;^ spc<tres IimUM, thy kindred hand; 
(>r tracesL chaste descriptions on thy pa;;(;, 
'J o please the I'emales of our modest a;4'e ; 
All hail, M. 1'. ! (J from whose infernal hi'ain 
Thin sheeted phantoms ;ilide, a grisly train; 
At whose eonnnanii ";;iim women" Ihi'on;.'- in crovvd.S, 
And kin;rs of (iri-, of water, and oi' clouds, 
With "small ;rray men," " wild ya;.'ers," and what not, 
To crown with honor thee uml \V alter rSeott! 

» " Lyrical IlalliulH," piiBO 4.—" The 'ViMi'.h Tunu^il," Htaii :a 1. 
'• ITji, ii|i, my IrliMid, anil deiir voiir lijol<h, 
VV'li.vall llijs toil am! troiilili^y 
IJ|>, lip. my I'rii'iiil, anil i|iilt your IjooI(h, 
Or hiiri'ly you'll unnv doiiljli'." 
t Mr. W. In IiIn priliiw laliors liani to prove that proKO and verHi! aro much 
the samo; and (•(^rlaiiily IiIn prcci'pis and piariicc arc »trlelly foiiCormahli-:— 
" And Hum to Hcltys (|iii-htion hi; 

.Madi; iuihwit. Ilki; a tnivelliT liold; 
Ttiir cock did crow lo-whoo. lo-whoo, 
And Ihu hiin did Hhlm: ho cold." i^c. kv.. 

Lyrical llalladx, pa),'<! 12!). 
X ColorldKC's I'ocmK, pa«o 11, " Hoiikm of ihi' rixicn.'— /. «., Oi'vonshirc fairies. 
I'aKi;42, we have, " l.liU'H toa Vouii),' Lady," and paK« W, " IJiicx to a Voiiiu/ 
Ads." 

8 " Tor ov<;ry one knowH lltllf! Matt 'h un M. |'. -—.Sit a I'ocm to .Mr. Lewis, In 
tilt! '• HlutL'smun," oiippo.icd to hi; wilin'ii hy .Mr. .Ji:kyll. 



430 I'Xdi.isii II i/.'/JS 

An'iiin, m11 IimH! if ImU-; like lliiiic m:iy |<l<':i-ii>, 
SI. Liiki' uIduc cim \ MiuiuUli llu' iUm-msc : 
r'.vi'ii Siilii'.i's sell' with llu'f lui'^lil (Ircml In dwell, 
And ill lliy skull discern it dcciuT lioll. 

M'lio in S(il"l K'l'i'^''. Niin-oiuidcd iiv ii cluiir, 
0\' vii'iJiins incllinf^', iml in \'i"<iii's liri', 
\Villi spiirklinji' oycs, iiud ciici-k liv pulsion llnshM, 
Birikos liis wild l.viv, whilst lislonnm' dimu's mv luish'd ? 
"I'is l,illlo! voiiiii;' ('lUnlliis ol' his day, 
As swi'ot, hiil lis imiiKiral, in his lay ! 
(Jrii'Vt'il to conilcnni, Ihr muse unisl still he jiisl, 
Nor siiai'e iiu'lodious advoeales of lust, 
i'ln'e IS the llauie wliieli o'er her allar hums; 
Friun ;;rosser ineense with dis^nsl she turi\s: 
Yet kind to \oiilh, this e\i>iiition o'er, 
y'hc hids thee " luend thy line, iiiul siu uo more." 

I'or Ihee, triinsliitur ol" the tinsel son;^", 
To whom such f^lillerin;;' ornanii'iits helouy", 
lliheruian Sirair;t'ord ! wilh thine eyes of hhio,* 
.•\nd hoasted locks ol' red or anhurn' hue, 
M'hose I'lainlive strain each love-sick miss admires, 
And o'er harmonious t'usiian halt' -rvjiires, 
Learn, it' thou canst, to \ ield thine author's sense. 
Nor vend ihy sonnets on a t'llst- |ireteuce. 
'riiiuk'sl thou to ^aiu thy verse a higher |>lace, 
lU ilressiu ;■ t'auiocns in a suit of laee ? 
Mend, Slran .lord! mend thy morals and thy taste; 
Jle warm, hui lane; ln' annu'ons, hut hi' chaste: 
Cease lo deeeive; Ihy iiilt'er'd harp rc-siore, 
JSior teach the l.u-iau hard to cojin Moore. 

In many inarhle cover'd \ohimes view 
llaylcy, iii vain atlem|>iin^' somelhin ;■ new : 
Whcll'icr hi' suin his eoincdic . iu rhyinc. 
Or scrawl, as \\ood and Harelay walk, V'ainst tunc, 
His style in vonth or a le is still the same, 
l<\>r ever I'eelile and for i'\ er tame. 
'l'rium|ihant lir>t sec " remper's 'rriiinijihs " shine ! 
At least I'm sure Ihey triumph'd over mine. 
Of " Music's Triumiihs," all who read may swcm-, 
That luckless music never trium|ih'il there. t 

Moravians, rise! licstow some meet ri'ward 
On dull devotion -l.o! the Sahhath hard, 

* TliP i-cnitor wtin miw wlsti t\>i' an i>x|>lin\alliin >>r ll>ls, inny n>f*>r to " ."^Irantf- 
fln'il's I'amoiMiM." |>. I'.Ti nolo Iu ihik'' -Vi, ur lo tln' l.isl puuo ot' tlio Kitlulau'Kli iv- 
vli'w i>t'".siriinKt»inl s ('ini\iit>iis.'' 

It ts also lo 111' ri'iaaiki'il, ihal tlio tlitt(«s (jivon to ttio piilitto a^< Poems ol 
raiaoi'iis, aro uo aioi\' lo ln> iiunul la iliooi'lKlual l't>rui>.'Ui'.si', Hum tn tlio Sunj: ol' 
Soloiuoii. 

t lliivlov's two tnost nofovlons vorso piMilaollons nro " 'rrlamplis ol 'roiupor,' 
awA " 'I'^i'lumplis of .Maslo." Ilo luis .ilso wriiloa auu'li oomcily in ilivmo, oiils- 
ttos, .Vo, .Vo, As lio U rallionin olotjanl wrllor oi' iiolos aiiil liloKi'aiiliv, lot ii-t 
roootuiiioutt I'opo's mlvli'o to Wvoliorlov lo .Mr. 11, 's oonsliloriillou, vl/,, " toooii- 
voi't Ills piiotiv into imiso," wliloli ma.v ohsII,v lio iloiio b.v titktnv; ttwii.v tlio ttmil 
ii,vllalilo ol oiii'li I'ouplot. 



A.\n srorcji iii:i'n:\n:ns. ,\:\\ 

Si'|iiili'liriil ( I'niliMiiir, |i(iiirs \\'n lioli's siilpliiiir, 
III iiiiiii;;lci| pi'dsc, iKif i-'cii M,s|iircs III rliN'iiic, 
Jir.'iiks iiilii IiImiiIv ilir (;im|icl of SI. LiikV, 
Ami liolill.v pill'iTH IViiiii (lie I'diliUciH'li ; 
Ami, iiMilis(.iirl)M liy coiiscii'iidoiis i|iimIiiih, 
rcrvfi'ls IJK! l*i'()|)ii(!tM iiikI iiiirloiiiH llic I'silllllM.* 

Jliiii, Syiiiiiuliiy! tliy hdI'I iilca l)!'iii;,'H 
A llioilMuiiil visioiiH of a (lioiisiiiiil l,liiii;4S, 
Ami mIiuwm, (lissulvcii ill lliiiic own iiiclliii^'' IciirH, 
'I'lic iiKiililliii prliH'c of iiioiiriiCiil souiiclici's. 
Ami iii'l lliiiil mil llii'ir iniiicc, lianminioiis lSi)wli:»! 
'I'liiiii lir-il, yrciil nracic of Icmlci' koiiIs ? 
AV lii'lliiT ill Hi^iiiiii;^' wimls Ijioii KueU'ist riilicl', 
Or coiisolalidii in a yi'll<>w leal'; 
WIil'IIkm- lliy iniis(! iiinsi, iMiiiciilalily d'lN 
WliiU, inciTV HoiiiKJs procci^l IVoin OxCunl hcllHif 
Or, Mlill in liclJH (l('li;^hlinfi', liml a IVifml 
III every eliiiiK^ lliiil jiii;;leil IViiiii OslemI; 
All ! liDW niiieli jilslcr were (li\- liiiise's litlli, 
H'liilliv liells lli'iiii woilldsl liiiY ailil a call! 
|)elii;liiriil Howies! Hlill IiIcmmiim' ,ni(l s(ill blent, 
All lovt: Ihy sdaiii, liiil eliililren like il hesl,. 
"I"is lliiiK!, willi ficiille liillle's iiioriil Hoiiji', 
To Hoodie lli(^ liiaiiiii of llie iiiiiol'olIM (liroii^ ! 
Willi lliee our iiiiiseiy iliiinsels slicd tlirir tears, 
I'lre miss, as yel, eoiii|ileli^s her inraiil years; 
liiil in lier (eeiis lliy wliiiiili^' powers lire vain; 
iSlie (jiiits poor Mowles lor Litlle's purer siniin. 
Mow lo soil tlieiii(!S llioil seoriK^st to eoiiliiio 
'I'lie lofly niiiiiliers of a liarp like lliiiie; 
" Awii.ke a loiiiler and a lol'lier strain, "| 
Slieli IIS none lieai'd liefore, or will ii;^'aili; 
AVlleie all diseoveiies jlinililed ridlii llie llodd, 
(Since lii'sl the leaky ark reposed in iiind, 
Hy more or less, are siiiiji' in ev('ry hook, 
From ('aplaiii Noiili down to ( 'aplaiii ( 'o(j!c. 
Nor this alone; liiit, pausing' on the road, 
'J"he hard si;^iis I'lirth a t;<'nlle c|iisod<^; ^S 
And j^ravc'ly tells - iillcnd, I'lich heaiileoiis miss! — 
When (irst. Madeira Ireiiihleil lo a kiss. 
Howies! ill iJiy iiKMiiory lei tliis preccpl, dwell, 
Htick Lo tliy Honiiets, man! — iit; leiist lliey sell. 

' Mr. (iniliiiinc Imih poiircil ('nrlli two Vdliiiiii'M ofniiil, In- llii', mjiiiki dl 

".Stihlmlli WiilliM," iiml " Itilill.-iil IMcliirfH." 

t .Sic lldWliM H SoiiiiittH, .tc— " .Soiiiiiil. to Oxliiiil," mill "Hliiii/.iiH uii linirliiK 
llii' ili'lln III' DhIi'UiI." 

t "Awiikiii loiiilii',".fe(!. Au.,Ih IIi(( Ili-Ht line III HiiwIi'n'h ".Spirit or DImMivcry," 
:i VI r\ s|ili'lli'il mill pri'tly ilwiirr-cplu. Aukiiik oIIum' i!xi|iilNltii IIikin wi^ Ijiivh tliii 
IuIIiiwIiik;— 

" A IiIhm 

Kliil Ilir HhI'mImk' nIIcmco, iicvit vi'I. 

lliTi' lirmil, llii'.v liTriihlnl evi'ii iin Ir llio priwcr," ifeo. 
Tliiil Is, lliir wiioils 111' Miiili'Irii Irriiililiiil tii a UIhh, vitry laiu.'li iiNtoiilBlioii, as wrll 
llii'V miIkIiI I"', III KMi'li 11 plii'iiiiiiii'iiiin. 

5 ■I'Ik. rplsnilr liiM'r iilliiiliMl 1. 1 Is till' HliM'V «l " KuImtI II IMiirlilii," mill " Aniiii 
il'.\rl'i!l," It pmi-iil' nilmlnnl. li.viTH, will! pri'lnrnnil Ihi' UIsm liclDri,' iiii'iilli.iii'il, 
tliiil nturllcu llic wodUn ol' Aladulni. 



432 EXGLISII BARDS 

But if sonio ncw-hom wliim, or laruor Inilic, 

Prompt tliy cruile liraiii, iiiul cliiim tlii'i- lor ii scribe; 

11" chance some hard, thotiuli once hy dunces I'ear'd, 

Now, i>rone in dust, can only he revered; 

ir rojjc, whose I'anie and uiMiiiis, from tlic first, 

Have foil'd the hest of critics, needs the worst, 

Do thou essay; each fault, each failing' scan: 

The first of poets was, alas ! hut man. 

Hake from each ancient dunyhill ev'ry pearl, 

Consult Lord Fanny, and coulide in Curll;* 

Let all the scandals ol' a former aii'c 

Perch on thy ]>en, and llntler o'er thy pai^c; 

Alfect a candor which thou canst not feel. 

Clothe envy in the yarh of honest zeal ; 

Write, as ii' 8t. John's soul could still inspii'c, 

And do from hale what Mallet did for hire.f 

Oh ! hadst thou lived in that conu:cnial time, 

To rave wiih Dennis, and wiih IJalph to rhyme; J 

Thronji'd with the rest around his livinu" head, 

Not rais'd thy hoof a^ain-it the lion dead; 

A meet reward had crown'd thy jilorious ^ains, 

And link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains.\j 

Another ejiic ! who intticts airatTJ 
;More hooks of blank upon the sons of men ? 
Bu'otian t'otllc, rich liristowa's boast. 
Imports old stories from the t'aiid)rian coast. 
And sends his goods to market — all alive ! 
Lines forty thousand, cantos twenty-five! 
Fresh fish' from Helicon! who'll buy ? who'll buy ? 
The precious bargain's cheap — in faith, not L 
Too much in tiutle Bristol's sons delight. 
Too much o'er bowls oi' rack prolong the night ! 
If C'onnnerec lills the inirse, slie clog.s the brain. 
And Amos I'otlle strikes the lyre in vain. 
In him an author's luckless lot behold, 
(.'oudemu'd to make the books which once he sold. 
() An\os Cottle! — I'luebus! what a name. 
To <ill 'he ^peuking trump of lutinc fame ! — 
O Amos C ottie ! lor ,. moment think 
A\"hat meagre profits spring from pen and ink! 
When thus devoted to poetic dreams, 
^^'ho will peruse thy prostituted reams ? 
Oh, pen perverted ! paper misapplied ! 
Had Cottle still adorn'd the counter's side, || 

' Curll is ono of tlio lioroos of the " Dtuioiml," and was a bookscllor. Loni 
l'"iuuiv is tlio pootioal nuuie of I.oni llervey, antlior of " Lines to flu' Imitator of 
Hoi-:\<("." 

f Lord HoliuatmitvO liirod INIallct to traduce Pope after Ids decease, lieeniiso tlie 
ixH't IkuI relMiaed sonie eopi.'s of a work l>y I.onl lloliii,^lirol<e (the " I'alriot 
kins,") wliieli that sideiulid Imt niali.uiiant i;eiiiiis liad ordered to bo destroyed. 

{ Deuiiiis tlie eritie, and lialpli tlie rhymester:— 

" Sllenee, yo wolves ! wliile Kalpli to Oynthia howls, 
iMaliins: iiitflit Iddeoiis; answer tiim, ye owls! " — DunHad. 

§ See Bowles's late edition of Pope's Worlds, for wlueh lie reeoived £-'!fK): thus 
Sli-. H. lias experioneod tiow muoli easier it is to profit by the reputation of an- 
otlier than to elevate his own. 

Ii -Mr. Cottle, Amos, Josepli, I don't know which, but one or both, onco sellers 



AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 433 

Bent o'er tlic desk, or, l)nrii to iiscfnl (oils, 
l)('cii liiiijilit to iiKiko ilu; imper which he soils, 
IMoii^liM, (k'lvt'd, or plied tlio our with lusty liinl), 
Ilu li;id not siiiiy; of Wales, nor I of him. 

As Sisyphus afj'ainst the infernal steep 
Rolls the hu^o rock, whose motions ne'er may sleep, 
.So up thy hill, iuuhrosial llichmond! heaves 
Dull Maurice ;ill his ji-i'auile wci;^hl of leaves:* 
Huiooth, solid uu)uuments of mental pain! 
The i)elriliietions of a ploddin;^' hraiu. 
That ere they rcaeh the top fall lumbering back again. 

With broken lyre, and cheek serenely pale, 
TjO ! sad AlcaMis wanders tlown the vale; 
Though fair they rose, anil might have hloom'd at laf;t, 
His hopes have perisliM by the northern blast: 
]S'ip|)'il in the bud iiy ( 'a.ledoiiian gales, 
Ilis blossoms wither as the blast iirevails! 
O'er his lost works let clasfsir, Hheifield weep; 
May no rude hand disturb their early sleep ! f 

Yet, say ! why should the bard at once resign 
His claim to favor from the sacred Nine ? 
For ever startled by the mingled howl 
Of northern wolves, that still in darkness pi-owl ; 
A coward brood, whi<'h mangle as they [irey, 
V>y hellish instinct, all that cross their way; 
Aged or young, the living or the dead, 
No mercy lind — these harpies must be fed. 
Why do the injured uru'esisting yield 
The calm possession of their native tield ? 
Why tamely tlius befori; tlK'ir fangs retreat. 
Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to jVitlmr's Seat .'J 

Health to immortal Jefl'rcy ! once, in name, 
England could boast a judge almost the same; 
In soul so like, so merciful, yet just, 
Some think that Satan has resign'd his trust, 
And given the sjiirit to the world again. 
To sentence letters, as he sentenecl men. 
With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, 
With voice as willing to decree the rack; 
Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law 
As yet hath taught him is to iind a Haw. 
Since well instructed in the patriot school 
To rail at party, though a party tool, 

of tjooks thoy did not write, and now writers of books tliat do not sell, have pnb- 
lislK'd II piiirof opirs. "Alfred,"— (poor Alfred ! I'yc has been at him too!) — 
" Alfreif " and tin- " I'iill of < 'iiinliria." 

• Mr. M:nn'iic' liatli iiKiiiiiracliu'cil Ihe coiniioMent parts of u ponderous rpiarto, 
upon the '• lic:uitii'siiti;i(liiiicjHil llill,";nid the llUe;— it also takes in a charming 
vii'W of 'rurnhaiii (.ireeii, llammcrsiiiith, lireulford, Old and >iew,and the parts 
ailjaeent. 

\ I'oDr MontRomery, tlioiifrh praised by every En^'lish Review, has been bit- 
(<M-ly ri'vili'd hy the Edinl)ar,i;h. .\fter all, the bard of Slieliield is a man of con. 
siilerahje genius; his " Wanderer of Switzerland" is worth a Ihousanil " LjTici*! 
)5allails," and at Ici'st titty "degraded epies." 

X Arthur's .Seat, the hili which overhangs Edinburgh. 
28 



434 EyCLfSlI BARDS 

\Vlio knows, if chance his patrons sliouUl restore 
Biu'k lo the sway they Ibrl'eited beloiv, 
His seriltliliii;,' toils some reeonipense may meet, 
Anil raise this Daniel to the judjiiiient-seat ? 
]^et JellVies' sliade iiululue tlie jiious hope, 
And ji'reetimx thus, ))resent liim wiih a rope : 
" Heir to my virtues ! man of e((ual mind; 
8kiird to et)iidemn as to traduee mankind, 
This eoril receive, for thee reserved with care, 
To wield iu judgment, and at lengtli to wear." 

Health to great Jelfrey ! Heaven preserve his life, 
To llourish on the fertile shores of Fife, 
And guard it sacred iu its future wars, 
Since authors sometimes seek the tiekl of Mars! 
Can none remeniher that eventful day, 
That e\er glorious, almost fatal fray, 
W'Ik'U I,itllc's leadk'ss pislol met his eye. 
And How Street myrmidons stood laughing by ?* 
Oh, dav disastrous! on liei' firui-si-t rock, 
l)une<lurs castle felt a secret siiock : 
I)ark roU'd the sympathetic waves of Fortli, 
Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north; 
'i'weed rullled half his wa\ e-; to form a tear. 
The oilur half pursued it-; calirrT'ari'cr ; f 
Arthur's sti'cp summit i\odded to its base. 
The surly Tolhooth scari-elv keiU her jilaee ; 
The Tolboolh felt— for niarljle sometimes cau, 
On such occasions, feel as nnuli as man — 
The Tolluiolh felt deframled of liis charms, 
If .letlVey died, excciit within lier arms : I 
Kay, la-t, not least, on tiiat iiortentous morn. 
The sixteenth story where himself was born, 
His patrimonial garret, fell to ground, 
Ar.d pale Kdina slunlder'd at the sound : 
iSlrew'd were the streets around with milk-white reams, 
I'lciw'd all the t'anougate with inky streams; 
Tliis of In-; candor seem'd tlie sable dew. 
That of Ids valor show\l the bloodless hue; 
And all with justice deem'd the two combined 
The mingled emblems of bis mighty mind. 
Jhit Caledonia's goddess hovcr'il o'er 
The tield, and saved iiim fiMiu the wrath of 'Moore; 
From either jjistol snatch'd the vengeful leail, 
Aud straight restored it to her favorite's head ; 

* Til 1806, Slossrs. ■tcltVoy and Monro mot nt (^lialk Farm. The diirl was pro- 
vonti'il liy Uu' iiUi'rlon'iui' nf tlio m:i^»isfr;\c\- ; loul, on fx:\ininiitioii, tlio lialls ot 
tin' \iislols, lilvo lice (om-.ii;!' oi' iIk' loiuliiUaiits, wi'iv rouiul lo liuvc cvaporateil. 
This iiK'klcnt i;ave oi,-c;ision lo iiuu'h \v:ii;mi'1'.v in tlu' ilally prints. 

t TIk' I'wi'cd hi'if ln'li:ivctl Willi propiT drcoriiui ; it woiilil luivo lieoii highly 
rrpiTtKii-iilito in llic Eiii;iish half of tliu river to liaveslKn\ii the smallest syi'.ip- 
tom of jippri'tu'iisioii. 

% This ilispliiy of sympathy on the part of the 'folhooth, (tlio prim-ipal prison 
In Kdinlnii's;h.)"whii'li inily scoins to iiave hocn most atVootod on this ooeasion. 
Is much to tn' I'omim'iuUd. It was lo lie aiipicluiutid that tin- many unhappy 
criiiiinals oxi'fiitod in tin- tVont mi,i;lit iwivc i-cndi'icd the odilk'o more callous. 
She is said to he of the solter so.\, l>eoaiise hor delicacy of feeling on this 
dnv was truly feminine, thoii^'h, like most feminine impulses, perhaps a little 
sel'tish. 



AND SCOTCH RKVlEWl-llS. 435 

Th;it lioiid, witli greater tluui iiiiij;neti(; jiower, 

Cuujiiit it, as Daiiac eaiiylit tlie p)lik'ii sliowcr, 

Ami, tlioiijih the tliiekeniii^' dross will searcc refine, 

Allj;iiieiils its ore, ami is ilsidf a mine. 

"My son," slic eried, " ne'er thirsl for gore again, 

Resign the pistol, and resume the pen; 

O'er polities and poesy preside, 

Boast of thy country, and IJritaiinia's guide! 

For long as" All)ion's lieedli'ss sons suhniit, 

Or .Seoltish taste decides on English wit. 

So long shall last thine umnolesled reign, 

Nor any dare to take thy name in vain. 

Behold, a chosen hand shall aid thv ))lan, 

And own thee chieftain of the critic elan. 

First in the ranks illustrious shall he seen 

The Ira\ell'(l thane, Athenian Alicrdeen.* 

llcrhert shall wield 'J'hor's haninier, j- and soa'^times. 

In gralitu<k', thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes. 

Smug Sydney too thy bitter page shall seek,! 

And classic Ilallani, much renown'd lor (Jreek; ^ 

Seolt may jn'rchance his name and inlli;ence lend, 

And paltry Tillans shall traduce his friend; || 

While •^\\\ Thalia's luckless votary, I.anil)e,1[ 

As he himself was damn'd, shall try (o damn. 

Known he thv name, unlxiunded he Ihy sway! 

Tin- llolland's banipiels shall each toifrcpay; 

While gratid'id Britain yields the praise slieowcs, 

To Holland's hirelings, and to learning's foes. 

Yet mark one caution, eiv thy next Review 

Sl)reacl its light wings of saliron ami of blue, 

• His lordsliip liiis IxH'Mniiioli nliroiid. is a mcinljoi- of tin- Atlioiiian Society, 
aiul lii'vicwcr of '• Cicll s Topoj^rupliy of Tiuy. " 

t -Ml-. Ilorljcrt IS a iranslaturof icelamlic and other poi'iiv. One of die princi- 
pal |)ii'Lx>s is a " Sou;,' 011 ilic liccovcry ..f I'linr.s ilaiimicr:'" tlie traiisiatiou is a 
plfasunt cliant in lln' viilyai- loiij;in', and ouik'ih tlms :— 
'• liislcad of money and i-aiys, I wol, 
'J'lic liannnci- s braises weri' lier lot : 
'i'luis Oiiins sun Ids haininer ^01." 

% Tlie Kcverond Sydney Suiitli, tliu rcpuloU autlior of " I'cter I'lyinlev's L'Jt- 
ters," anil sujidi'y criticisms. 

§ Mr. llallani reviewed rayiie Kniglit's " Taste,"" ami was exceedingly sovcro 
on some (.ireelv verses therein: it was not discovered that tlje lines werc> I'iii- 
dar's till the press reiidereil it impossihle toeancci the critique, wliicll still slamls 
an iverlastim.' uioniimcnl to Ilallams initeniiity. 

'I'he said llallam is incensed, heeause he is falsely accused, seeing' that he 
never dinelh ai iiolland ilonse. If tins he true, I am sorrv— not for liaxiiit; said 
so, liiu tin his aeconnt, as 1 understand his lordship's (casts are prcteralde to 
his compositions. If he did not review l.ord Uollaiufs ))erlormancc, I am glad, 
hecanse it must have been jiainfid to read, ami irksome to praise it. If .Mr. 
llallam will tell me who did review if, the real name shall find a place in the 
lc.\t; iirovided, ne\crlheless, the said name be of l\vo orlhodo.x musical svlla- 
lilcs, and will come into tlic verse; till llieii, llall.im must stand lor want "of a 
l)cttcr. 

I rillnns ^yas a tutor nt Ktoii, and subsequently rector of the High School, 
ami a professor in the University of Kdinbiu'gh. 

II The Honorable (1. l.ambe reviewed " I'.ercsford's Miseries,"' and is moreover 
iiinhor of a farce enactcil wit'i mneh aiipianse at the I'riory, Staumore; and 
daiimed with great e.\pcdilioii ut tlic late theatre, Covciit tia'rUun. li was cu- 
tilled •' Whistle for It." 



436 E.ycLisii BAUDS 

Beware lest MiiiKUrinu'' r>n )iiiih:im destroy the sale,* 
Turn lieel' to baiinorks, caulitlowers to kail." 
Tims haviu;,'- said, (lie kilted ^Dildess kist 
Her son, and vaiiisiiVl in u Seottisli luist.f 

lllnsti-ions Holland! liard would l>e his lot, 
His liii'elin^s nienlioned, and himself I'orfiot! 
Holland, with lleiirv Telty at his hack, 
Tlie \vhi|)|ier-iii and hniitsman ol' Ilie paek. 
lilest lie tin- liaiiqiiets spread at Holland House, 
W'liei'e Seotchmen I'eed, and erities may carouse! 
]ion;;-, lon^' heiuMlh that liosjiitaMe rooi' 
Shall (.inti) Sti-ei't iline, while dun-; are kept aloof. 
See honest Hallani lay aside iiis I'ork, 
Kesiinie his (len, review his Loi'dslnp's work, 
And, ;^i'alel'iil to the founder of llu' least, 
Declare his landlord can translate at least ! J; 
Dnncdin! view thy children with delight. 
They write for food — and feed hecause they write: 
And lest, wluMi heated with the unusual ;irape, 
Some >;lowin;i' thou;;hts shoidtl to the press escape, 
And tin^c with red the female reader's ciieek, 
!My laily skims the cream of I'aeh critiiiue; 
Breathes o'er the iia^e her purity of soul, 
llefonns caeli error, and refines the whole. § 

Now to tlic Hrama tiu'ii — Oh ! motley siiilit, 
AVhat preei<ius scenes the wouderiuj;' eyes invite! 
I'nns, and a iirince within a barrel lH'nt,|| 
And l)ilidin's nonsense, \ icld complete content. 
1'liou;;li now, thank llea\cu! the Kosciomania 's o'er, 
And t'ull-urown actors arc endured once more; 
\ct what a\ail their \ain attempts lo |ilease, 
A\'hilc Hrilish ci-ilics sulVcr scenes like these ? 
\\'Iiile Ueynolds \ cuts his " Dammes ! " " I'oohs ! " and 
" Zounds I "II 

» Mr. I?roii;;liiiin. In No. X.W.ol' Ilic iMlinliMryli licview, (liroiiHJKnil tluvn-liclc 
Cdiu-cniiiij; l><m I'cdi-u ilc Ccvallos, luis ilisplaycd mure iMiliiics lluiii poliry; 
nuui.v of till' wortliy liai-Koscs 111' I'.iliuliin'uli Infill},' s(i im•^■n^(■ll at Iliv iniaiamis 
principles it evinces, as to liave willKlrawii llieir siiliseriplions. 

It seems Ilinl Mr. linui.uluun is nut n I'ii'l, as I Mipposeil. hut a I'xiriUrii', aiul 
his name is pronoaneed llrnom, tVuM 'I'rent to 'I'av :— .Sd lie ii 

t I (illvllt Id apiiliii;i/e In llu' woriliy deities lor iuinidlleiiij; a iiew;;()dde>s willi 
sliort pellieoats to tlieir iioliee; liiit.alasl wliat was lo lie doiiei' I eoidd not 
say Caledonia's ucnias, it lieiie,' well Uiiowii Ihere is no genius lo lie loiiiid iVoin 
t'liiekmannaiiloCailliiu'ss; yet w ithoiii siipenialiiral aveney, how was ,leltre\ lo 
1)0 saved? Till' national " Kelpies," ,Ve , are too luipoelieal.'aiid the " lirou nies " 
and "iiiale neiylilioi-s" (spii-itsol' a f;ood disp<'silioii) retiisetl lo <'.\lrieale liiiii. 
A Koddess Iheret'ore has lieeii ealli'd tor llie purpose; and ^■reat oayht lo lie ihc 
ttraliliide ot' .leMrey, sei'inn it is the only coimmniiiatiou he ever hold, or is 
likelv lo hold, with anythiiiK' heavenly. 

J honl II. has iraiislati'd some siieeimens oi' I.ope de ^■e^'a, inserted In his I.itb 
t)f the author: hoth are bepraised hy his (IL.i.iiterfntcil i;ui-si>i. 

§ Cerlaiu it is, her lady.-hlp is suspected of haviuK displayed hor matchtess 
wit 111 the ■■ Kdinlnnvh I!e\ lew : " however that may lie, we know tVoin >;ood 
niilhorlly that the manuseripis are suhnnlted to her perusal— no doulit for eor- 
roetloii. 

II In the melodrama of Tekeli, that heroic prince is elapt into a Inirrel on the 
staKC; a new asylum for distressed heroes. 

^ All these are favorite expressions of Mr. 1!., and in'omineiit In his comedies, 
liviiijf ami defunct. 



AND SCOTCH Ri:vii:\vi:ns. 437 

Anil commonplaro anil rniiiniDii sonsp confounds ? 
A\'liilc Kenncy's " WorM," just siiil'cr'il to proceed, 
I'riu'laiiiis tlu,' iiiiilicnce very kiuil indeed! 
And Heauinonl's i)ill'er'd (':ir;itiieli allbrds 
A tr:i;;edy (complete in id! hul words r* 
Who l)ut ninst mourn, while these ju-e all the raj^o, 
The de^.Tuiiation of our vaunted staji'e ? 
Heavens! is all sense of shame and talent gone ! 
Have wo no liviu;^' hard of merit ? — none! 
Awake, (;ei)r;;e Colnian ! (_'und)erhind, awake ! 
Kinif the a]ainni-i)ell ! let folly ([uake ! 
O .Sheridan! if aui^ht can move thy pen. 
Let Comedy vestinie her lliroiu: a;;ain; 
Ahjure the miuumery of (iernuin sciinols. 
Leave new I'izarros to translatin;;' fools; 
(jlive, as thy last memorial to the a^^c, 
One classic drama, and reform the stage. 
Gods! o'er those hoards shall l-'olly rear her head, 
Where (Jarriek trod, and lvend)k' "lives to tread ? 
On tliosc shall Fai-ee display Hiilloon'rv's mask, 
And Hook conceal his iun-oes in a cask ? 
I-^hall sapii'nt managers new scenes produce 
From Ciicrry, Ski'lliiigton, and IMotlier (ioosc ? 
M'hile Shakspeare, Otway, Massingcr, forgot, 
t)n stalls nuist moidder, or in closets rot ? 
1^0! with wliat pomp the daily prints iiroclaini 
The rival candidates for Atlii" faun'! 
\\\ grim array though Lewis' spectres rise, 
Still Skelllngton and (ioose di\'iilc ihc |)i-i/.c. 
And sure ijrcat Skcifiugton nnist claim lair prai:;c, 
Lor skirtkss coats and skeletons of j'lays, 
Itenowu'il alike; whose genius ne'er coufines 
Her Hight to garnisii (Jreciiwood's gay designs ;f 
Mor sleeiJS with "Slccpjug Ueauties," hut anon 
In five facetious acts comes liiundcring ou,i; 
^^'llile poor. John Hull, hewilder'd witli Ihe scene. 
Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean; 
]{nt as some hands applaud — a venal few — 
liather tliaii sleeji, wiiy .lohn applauds it too. 

Sncli are we now. Ah ! wherefore shoidd we turu 
To what onr latluu-s were, unli'ss to nmurn : 
Degenerate IJritons! are ye dead to shame, 
Or, kind to dulness, do you fear to hlanie ? 
Well may tin; nohles of our prc'sent rai'e 
Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face; 
Well may tiny smile on Italy's hnlloons. 
And worship Catalani's pantaloons, ^S 

* Mr. T. Slicriilan, tlio ni'W niaiiiiKcr of Drury Lane Tlioiitro, striiipi'il tlic 
n-iiKi'ilv of " r.diidiicir' of till' ili:ilii;.'lii', and oxiiiiiitcil tlie scenes as iIk' sjiic:- 
tai'lo of Canirtaciis. Was '.liis wortiiy of lii.s sire.'' or of liiniMMf-' 

t Mr. Cri'cuwonil is, we lielieve, stciie-paiiiter to J)rary Lane Tlioatre; as 
siieli, Mr S. is iiiiii-li iiiileliled to liiin. 

J JIv. S. is Ihe illustrious aullior of tlie " .Sleepiiiy Heaiitv ; " niul some come- 
tlies, i)articalarly " JIaiils ami Baclielors ; " 15arcalaiu-ii" liaculo uinj;i', mj.uu 
luiiro ili^ni. 

§ Naldl and Catalaiii rcijiiire little notice; for the visage of ili" one, .iml ilio 



4;!.s 



/■;,V(.7,/,s7/ II. inns 



Siiiri' llii'lr iiwn (Irainii vicliN im iMirrr Ii'mco 
( U' w il I hail imn-*, ol' Iuiiikm' iIki ii ^^I'ini.'U'c. 

'I'licii li'l Aiisoniii, skillM in cvt'rv arl 
To soflcii iiiaiuuT-*, hilt ('(irniiil the lu-art, 
l'ii;ir luT I'Milif I'ullirs o'er {\iv inw n, 
'l"(> siincliaii N'ii'c, iMul liiiul Dcciiniui ilown : 
Iji'I wiildi'd s(riimiu"ls laiif^iiisli u\r I )i'>lui\A-i, 
.\iiil lili'ss lilt' iMoinisc wliicli lii-^ lorm ilisplays; 
WhiU' (ia\loii Ixiuiuls Itk'loro tii" I'lu'aiiluicil looks 
( H' hoary mariiniscs iiiul slripliiiL;' ihilvr^ ; 
Lcl liiLili-horn li'^'luM's cm- tho lively Tiv ^If 
'I'wirl luT liL:lil liiiihs, thai s|)iirii llic iicnlU'ss vril; 
liOt Aiiii'ioliiii haiv Uvv hi'i'iisi of snow, 
A\'fi\o thi' whili' arm. ami |ioii>l llio i>liiint toe; 
CoUini trill her love-ih-^iiii'inu' soul;', 
»S|raiii luT fair neck, ami chai'ni the listening;' throni;! 
J»aisr not your scytlu-, snoiu'cssors of our \\vc[ 
lu'l'orniinu' saints! too lU'licati'ly niic! 
My whose (leeriH's, our sinful soiiN to save, 
No Sunday tankards foam, no harhers slunc; 
And lieer undrawn, ami heards muuowu, disi>lav 
Your holy re\ erenee for the Sahlialli-day. 

(•r, hail at onee the patron aud-thv pile 
Of \ ice and folly. ( ii'cN illc and Ar-ylel^» 
\\ here you jiroud pal.aee, l''ashion's hallowM lane, 
Spreads wiile her portals for the motley train, 
lU'hold the new I'elronins of the d.iy.f 
'I'lu' arhilei' of pleasure and of jilay I 
'I'licrc the hired eunuch, the llespeiian choir, 
'The melliuL;' lute, the sol'i lasen ious lyri', 
'I'lie sonu' from Italy, the step tVom l'"ranee. 
The nudiuuht oruy, and the ma/y dance. 
The smile of beauty, and the Hush of wine, 
I'or fops, fools, jiiuneslei's, kna\es, and lord.s comhine. 
I'lach to ins humor— Comns all allows; 
('liam)>aii'ue, dice, music, or your neiL;ldior's spouse. 
Talk not to us, yc starving sons of ti-adc ! 
(>f piteous ruin, which unrsches lia\c nunle; 
In ricnly's sunshine l'\irlune's minions bask, 
Nor think of poverty, except en iHii,s</ui', 

sHlm-.v of tl\(M>lluM', will i-imlili> IIS Ioiik' to i-cfulU'cl llio.st- Huiiislns vinjnliomis; 
lirslil'es wi' iuv sill! Iilack inul Iduo Ihnu llio .siiiu>r/.o oil llic Ilrst iilyiit of llio 
liuly's ii|i|n'!n';nM'i> hi Iroiisia's. 

*' 'I'o pn'\ OMl iiiiv lilinuloi-, siieli as nilstiilUiiK n stri't't I'or a iumm, 1 lu".; li-iiv(> le 
sliiU' Ihal It Is llio liisltliilloii, mill not tlio l)ul;(> of tliiit iiaiiir, w hivli Is luic 
iillii>l<'>l l«. 

A ceiilli'iiiaii. Willi wlioni I am slljriilly iU'niiiiliilcil. lost In tliii Aritylo lioonis 
srM'iiil IlionMuul poumls at liiu'Kv'aiiiiii'oM ; II Is Inil IiinIIci' to llic luiUia.ia'l' In 
tills iiistaiu'o tosav.tliiit sonio ilc^ii'i- of illsapin-oliatloii was iiiaiilfi'sii'il. IUH 
wliv iii'o llui liuiili'iiuaits of !;iiiiiliiK allowi'il III a pliu'o ilovotcil to llu> soelt'l\ nt 
l>otli si'Xi'sy .\ iilriisaiii tliliii; for llio whos mid ilaiii;hU'is ol ilioso who 'mv 
lilt'ssoil or t-iirsi'il Willi siirli eoiiiu'cllons, to licai' llic lillllm-tl-talilt's nilllliit; In 
one i-oom aiiil tin- illi'o In mioiln'r! 'I'lial this Is llu' cast-. 1 mvsi'lf c.iii tostlfx , as 
n lato iiiiwoi'lhv iiu'iiilu'r of an liisllniiloii wlilrli lualorlally aitt'its the inoiiils ol 
Iho lilclirr oriicrs, whilo ihi> lowi-r may not oven iiiovo to ilio soiiiul ol' a liiliir 
.iiul tUlillc without a I'lituieo of liiilleliiioiit for riotous lirlnu ior, 

t I'rli'oiiliis, "Arlilloi' I'lcK.'iiillm'iim " to Noro, "iliul a very |ii'olly iVllow In Ills 
Uiiy," as .Ml'. I'oiijtivvo's " OKI Itiu'liolor " siillli. 



ANi> SCO fell It i:\ I i:\vi: Its. .\]\\) 

When for tli(! ni;;'lil Hoinc liilcly tillcil iisx 
Ali|ii'iii-s till! I)c;^;4;ir wliicli his ;iriinilsii'i' WiW. 
'I'lii.' ciii'tuin (lr(i|)|i'(l, (lie is:i\y liiirlclla o'er, 
'I'lic iiiiiliciicc l;ikc llicii- turn ii|Miii lli(^ (li)(ir; 
Niiw riiHiiil llii' riMiiii till' circling' ilowii^i'cis HwiM'p, 
Ni)\v ill loose Willi/, I 111- (liin-cliKl iliiiin-jid'is Iciq): 
The first ill icii^ftiiciril line iiiiijrslic swim, 
'i'lii- iiisi ilis|i|iiy tlie IVcc, iinrcltcr'il liiiili! 
Tiiosc I'll!' I lilicniiii's liisly sons rc|iiui' 
Willi ml llif cluu'iiis wiiicli iiiiliin: coiilil mil spiirc; 
Tiii'si! nricr liiisliuiiiis win;;' llicir ciiycr lli^ilit, 
Nor Iciivi; iiiii(;ii iiiystiiry for tlu! mipliiil iii;j;iil.. 

Oil ! iilcsl rclrcals oC iiifmriy imd (miho, 
Wlicrc, III! lorj^dUcii bill tin; power to ple.'ise, 
Kiieli iiliiid liiMv ^ive II loose to ji'eiiiiil llioii^lit, 
]%iieli swiiiii iiiiiy Iciicli new sysleiiis, or Ih^ liiii^'lil: : 
There the liliihe yoiin;;-s|er, jiist. reliiniM (Voiii Spiiiti, 
(.'ills the lij^hl piiek, or ends tli(! rillllin^- liiMili; 
'i"he joviill eiislcr's set, Ulld seven's llie iiieU, 
< tr -ilone ! 11 thoiisiind on IIk; eoiniiiy trick ! 
ir, iii:hI wiili loss, exisl(!iiec '^-ins to tire, 
And nil \ iKir hope or wish is to expire, 
Here's i'tiwell's pistol re;id\ for vol I r life. 
And, Uilider still, ii \'w^t:i lor yoiir wile : 
l''il eonsiiniiiiiilion of iin eiirllily riiei,', 
]J('Hiiii ill folly, ended in disi^riice, 
Willie none hnt IlKriiials, uvx the lied of deiitli, 
Wash thy red woiiilds, or wateh thv wiiverin;j liicafli; 
'J'radiiceil by liars, and foi'i^ol liy nil, 
'I'he lnanj;leil vieliin ol' a drniilven lirawl, 
To live like ClodiuH, and like J''alkland fall.* 

Triilh ! rouse some tfeiiiiiiie haril, and enide hjn hand, 
To dri\c this peslileiiee from out, the laiiil. 
M'cii I least thinking' of a Ihoiijihtless throny, 
finsi skill'd to know the ri^lit, and rhoose the wroii;;', 

]''r I at I hat a;;i' when reason's shield is lost, 

I'o (i;4lil my course lhron;j;li passion's eoiinlless host:, 
Whom every path of nieasiire's llowcry way 
lias hired in turn, and all have led iislrny — 
K'eii I mnsl. raise my voice, e'en I must feel 
Niieh scenes, such men, destroy tlu! public weal; 
Although soiiK! kind, censorious friend will say, 
"Wliiit art Ihoii heller, me.ldliiiM' loo|, ibaii they?" 
And every brothi'r rak(' will smilcr to si:i; 
Thai iiiiraele, a moralist in inc. 



• Miltnto iioMiliic ill' Id 
I'liliiilii iiiirriiliir. 
I ItiicTT (lie liile I.di-il I'liIIUiiiiil will. On SiiikIiiv iiIkIiI I lidiclil tiliii prcsldlnK 
nt Ills iiwli inlili', III nil llir liiiiii'sl pi'iili' nl liiih|illiilll v ; on Wi'iIik'niIii v imhi'iiIiik, 

«( lliri 'rliirk, I Hinv hlrclcln'il lii'Cnrv ini- nil lliiil rciiiiiliii'il ol' ciiiirnitri', M'clliiK, 

mill a lioHl III' imHHloiis. lie ^VllM u Kiillniil iiiiil HiicreHNliil (illlccr: IiIm rmiKs wcni 
till' I'niiIlN III' .1 Hnllur; iih hiicIi, KrIliiiiH will loi'Kivi! llniii. Ilr illi'il llki' a liriivi 
liiiiii III n lii'tliT riiiiM', I'lir linil III' I'lilli'ii In lll.c iiiniiiiiT uii tin' ili'i'k nt' lli'i 
I'l'lKnli- to whii'li )'(' •..».• lii',l np|.oiiili'il, Ills liiHl iiiiiiiii'iils woiilil luivc lii-i'li liolcl 
11,1 li> lilh iiiiiuli-^ II, I'll di nil cxiiiiiiili^ 111 hiicct'oilliiK lii!i'(i(.'». 



440 EXGLISir BARDS 

No matter: when sonic hard in virtue stron^r — 
(iitt'ord iicrdiani'c — shall raise the chastening song, 
Then sleep niv pen for ever! and my voiec 
Be only heartl to hail him, and rejoice; 
Rejoice, and yield my I'eehle praise, thon^h I 
May feel the lash that Virtue must apply. 

As for the smaller fry, who swarm in shoals 
From silly Ilaliz up to simjile Bowles,* 
Why shoidd we call them iVom their dark abode, 
In hroad St. (iiles's or in Tottenham Road ? 
Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare 
To s;'rawl in verse) from Hond Street or the Sijuarc ? 
If thin<:s of ton their harmless lays indite. 
Most wisely dooin'd to siiun the pulilie sii;ht, 
"What harm ? In spite of cvei'y eritie elf. 
Sir T. niav read his stanzas to himself; 
Miles Amlrews still liis strength in eoiiiilets try, 
And live in i>rolouiies, though his dramas die. 
Lords too are hards, such things at times lufall, 
And 'tis some ^iraise in peers to write at all. 
Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times, 
Ah ! who would take their titles with their rhymes ? 
lioseonnnon ! .Sheffield ! with your spirits lied, 
No future laurels deck a nohle head; 
No muse will cheer with renovating smile 
The paralytic ludiMu' of t'arlisle; 
The puny schoollmy and his early lay 
!Men jianlon, if his follies pass awav : 
l$ut who forgives the senior's eeivseless verso, 
A\'iiosc hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse ? 
What heterogeneous honors deck the peer! 
Lord, rhymester, pvtit-maitrt', iiampldeleer I f 
So dull in ycnith, so drivelling in lii< a^ie, 
His scenes alone had ilamn'd our sinking stage; 
13ut managers for once cried, " Hold, enougli ! " 
Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stulf. 
Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh, 
And case his volumes in congenial calf: 
Yes ! dotf that covering, where morocco shines, 
And hang a calf-skin on those recreant lines. J 

^\'ith von, ye L)ruids! rii'h in native lead. 
Who dady scribble for your daily bread, 
M'itli you 1 WiU' not: Gilford's hea\y hand 
Has erush'il, without remorse, your numerous band. 

* Wliat wmilil lie tlic sciitimciits ol" tlio I'orsian .Viiuorooii. lli\liz. coiilii tip riso 
tVdm Ills splciuliil si'piileluv at Slu'i'raz, wliore lie roposos witli Korddtisl niul 
S:\ili, tlio oiii'iilal Ilonior aiul I'atiillus, jmd boliold liis iiainc assiimod by (uie 
Stett of Dnuiioro, the most iiiipiiileiit and execrable ol' literary poiieliers lor the 
daily prints! 

t 'rtie Karl of Carlisle has lately pnbllsliod an eightcenpenny pamphlet on the 
state ot" the stasje. iiiid otters his plan tor building: a new theatre: it is to be 
lioped his lordship will be permitted to bring forward aiiylhing for the stage— 
except his own tragedies. 

t " Doft' that lions hide. 
And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs." 

SiiAKsi'KAi.'K, King John. 
Lord O.'s works, most rosploiulcntly bound, form a conspicuous ornament to his 
book-shelves : " The rest is all but leather and prunella." 



A\D SrOTCn REVIEWERS. 441 

On " all the talents " vent yonr venal spleen; 
"Want is your jjlea, let jiity l>e your screen. 
Let monodies on Fox rei^ale your crew, 
And Melville's Mantle |)ro\e a l)lanUet too. 
C>iie eonuuon Lethe waits each liapli-ss liard, 
And, peace he with you ! 'tis your hest reward. 
Sueli dauiniuli- lauu- as Duneiads oidy ^ixc, 
Could iiitl your lines l)evond a niornin;;' live; 
Hut now at once your lleetinjj' lalK)rs close, 
With names of fr'rcatcr note in blest repose. 
Far he't from me unkindly to upl)raid 
I'he lovely Rosa's ))rose in nia,s(|uerade, 
^^'hose strains, the faithrul echoes of her un'nd, 
Leave wonikTinu' conipreheusidu fur behind. •■•■ 
Thouuii r.ell has lost \u< nii^hl in^iales and owls, 
Matilda snivels slill, and llatiz iiowls; 
And Crusca's s|)irit, risiuji' from the dead, 
Ilevivcs in I^aura, Quiz, and X.Y.Z.f 

WJieu sr)mc iirisk yoiitii, the tenant of a stall. 
Employs a ])en less jioiuted tiian his awl, 
Leaves his snii}:: shop, forsakes liis store of shoes, 
St. Crispin (piils, and eoiii)les for the nnise. 
Heavens ! how tlu^ viili^ar stare ! iiow crowds apjilaud ! 
IIow ladies read, and liti'rati laud! 
If ehaiK'c some wi<'ked wa^- sliould jiass his jest, 
'Tis sheer ill-nature — don't the world know best ? 
Genius nnist ^^nide when wits admire tlie rhyme, 
And Capel Lolft (k'clares 'tis cptito sidilime.l; 
Hear, then, ye hapless sons of needless trade! 
8\vains ! (piit the plonj;'h, rcsif,rn the useless spado ! 
Lo ! Burns and IJloomlield, nay, a ^:reati'r far, 
(iitford was boru bc'iieath an adverse star. 
Forsook the labors of a servile state, 
blennn'd the rude storm, and triiimph'd over fate: 
Tiien why no more ? if Plia'i)us smiled on yon, 
Bloomiield ! why not on brother Nathan too ? 
Him ton tiie mania, not the muse, has seized; 
Kot inspiration, but a mind diseased : 
And now no boor can seek iiis last aliode. 
No common be enclosed, without an ode.^^ 
Oh ! since incrcascil refinement deifziis to smile 
On 15ritain's sons, and bless otu- genial isle, 
l^et Poesy ;ro forth, pervade the whole. 
Alike the rustic, and nieehanie soul. 
Yc tuneful cobblers ! still your notes jirolon^, 

* This (Ivoly little Jessica, the dniiKlitcr of the noted .Tow K . seems to bo a 

follower 111" the Delia Oriisca scliool, and lias piililislied two volumes of very 
resjieetr.iile alisiirdities in rlivnio, as times go; liesides siiiidrv iii'V( Is in the stylo 
of the first eilllinn (if the " MiMik." 

t Tliese an' llic sijinatiires of varions worthies who flgiire in the poetical de- 
partments of llie newspapers. 

t f'apel 1-ollt. Km|., tlie iMa'Cenas of slioemaluTs. and prcfice-v, riter-preneral 
to distressed vcrsenK'n; a kind of gratis aoeonciiem- to those wIjo wish to be de- 
livered of rliynie, l)nt lio not know liow to liring liirlli. 

§ See Nntlianiel liloomfield's ode, elegy, or wliateverlie orany oneclsecliooses 
to call it, on the enclosure of " lloninaton Green." 



.| l-J /■;V(.7./,S7/ /( ll!l>S 

Vom]Mi'ic Ml onci' ii sli|)|n'r inul m soiiu'; 

!^(> slmll dn' I'liir vnnr hmiiliwurk |ii'riisi>, 

Your MHiiii'ls Mii'i" slmll nli-asc - |itM'lui|is yoiiv shoos. 

l\Iiiv iiuioi'liiiiii woiivcrs Imiisi I'iiiilMiic sUill,* 

A 111! liiilois' l;iys l)i' lousier tliiin llicir liill I 

While |)iiii('ln!il l>(>!in\ rcwiini tlio iiiviioriii ikiIos, 

And |)!iv I'm- jnn'iiis — wlii'ii llu'v \ni\ for coiils. 

To llif I'lmn'il llivonir now )>.'iiil (lie tiilnilo iliio, 
'Ni';;K'cli'>l 'renins! lei ine Inrn lo yon. 
Come Corlii, () ( iinipliell ! '/wc lliy t;il(Mits sft)(W ; 
\\ ho (lures iisiiire if llion inusi reuse lo hopo f 
.■\nil lliou, ini'loilions Uoijers! rise nt his(,f 
Ueeiili ihe iileMsiMU' niemory ol" Ihe imsi ; 
Ai'ise! let lilesi renieinlininee slill inspire, 
,,\n(l sH'iUi (o wonletl lones lliv liiiUowM lyfe; 
Itesloi'e Apollo to his yni'iinl tin-one, 
Assert lliy eonnlry's honor :\\n\ lliine own. 
NN'hiit! ninsi ileserleil I'oesy slill wi>ep 
A\'here her hist hopes with pions Cowper sleep .> 
I'liless, pi-rehiinee, iVoin his eolil hii-r she turns 
To (leek Ihe liirl' that wr;ii)s her minstrel, Mnrns! 
No! tluni^'ii eoMl(Mnpt Imtli iniirkM Ihe spiirions hrood, 
The r.'iee who rhyme iVoni lolly, or I'lfTTtiod, 
^'et slill some jji'iniine smis "li-, lu-rs to Ixuisi, 
Who, leiisi iilleelinu', slill Mll'eel the most : 
I\'el !is they write, sind write lint as ilu'\ feel — 
lleiir witness (iiil'ord, Soilu-liy, Mtieneil'.j 

" Why shnnliers (iiil'ord T " once wiis MskM i;i viiin ! ^N 
Why sinmhers (iilVord : liM lis ji.sk jiLi'iiin. 
Are there no lollies for his pen to pni'i^e ? 
Are there no fools whose hneks demiiiul tho seuiirgo .' 
Are there no sins for siitire's Imrd lo u'lrel ? 
}st!ilks not ^i^Hiitie N'ice in t'very street ? 
.Slmll peers or princes trcjid pollution's p;itli ? 
And 'scape .alike the law's and innse's wraih ? 
Nor hla/.e with ji'iiilly ;ilarc thronuh fiitiiiv linio, 
Klcnial hcucons of consnmmate crime .- 
Arouse thee, (JiU'ord! he thy |>roniise elainiM, 
Make had men heltcr, oralleast ashamed. 

* Vi,!,- " i;<'c.>ll(>.'ll..iis ..r II Weaver In tlic Meorlaiuls .U' Slnn.inlslilrc." 

t II vvinilil ln' siiin-i'lliHiils lo n-ciill III Uu> mliul ul' llie leailci' llie aalliorsor 
•"I'hr I'l.'iismcs ol' Memory" inul "riu' I'Iciisaios of lloiic, " ilu- iiiosi ln\iii(ll\i< 
(lldiU'lii' poi'iKs 111 (UM- liiiiuna;;!', IC wiM'M'ciU Pope's " l'',ssiiy on Mini;" Inn so 
m;ni.\ jvoeliislers liiive sliirloii up, llial even llie umue-s of I'lniipliell an>l Hojfeis 
lieeniue slraUKe, 

I Ciilonl, aallior of ll\i> " Uiwlml " ami "lMa<vlail," tlie Ilrst satlivsof the day, 
anil lraaslal(>r oC .liiveiial. 

Solheliv, Iraaslalor ol' Wleland's '• Olienin," and N'hxil's •• (ieor.iiies, " and 
ainlior of " .Smd," an epie poem. 

MaeiK'll, wliose piu-ins are desi-rvedly (lopular. parllealarly " Seollaiids 
Seallli; or, i'lie Waes ol' Wm'," ol' whieli ten tlio'isand copies were sold la one 
inoatli. 

S Mr. ('.Illonl promised pnlillely tliat the " Havlad " and " Mu'vlad "sliocid m>l 
he his last oiiKinal works, l.el him remember " Mox In reliielanles draeoiies." 



N^ AM) S(U)T('ll ItEVIEW lilts. 443 

Uiili!ii)r>y Wliilc! wliilo life was in its spriii^i',* 
Anil tliy y()Mn<4' i use jnsl wiivcil lior joyous win^', 
'I'lic spoiliT (•Mine; :in(l iill tliy proniist; I'aii' 
lias soiiyii! the ^ravc, to sleep lot' ever there. 
Oil! wiial a nolile lieai't was here unilone, 
Wiien Seienee's sell (leslro\'M her lavorile son! 
Yes, she too iiuieh iniliil;ici1 lliy fonil pnrsiiil, 
Sill' sowM (he seeds, hut dealli lias reap'd Ihe tVnit. 
"I'was thine own j;(;nins 'i'ave the (inal hlow, 
And help'd to jjlanl the wound that laid Ihee low: 
(So tlu! stniei< eajilc;, slreleh'd upon liie plain, 
No more Ihroii^ii roiiinjj;' clouds lo soai' a;.';ain, 
View'd his own leiilher on the I'atal <lai't, 
•And winji'd the shaft Ihal ([uiver'd in his iieart; 
Keen were his pan;4S, hut Iceener far to feel, 
lie inn'sed the pinion whieli inipeli'd \\w. steel; 
Wiiile liie SMiMi' plitniaj^i: Ihal had waiin'd his ncst 
Dranlv the ia,st life-ch-op of his hiecdin^- hreast. 

Thei'e he, wiio s;iy, in lliose enli^'hlon'd diiys, 
That splendiil lies iiic mII the poet's praise; 
That strain'd invenlioii, ever on the v/in;^', 
Aloni; impels Ihe modern hard to sin;^ : 
'Tis true, thai all who ihyine — nay, all who wi'ite, 
Shrink from that fatal word to j^'eiiius — trile; 
Yet 'I'nilh will sonuMiinos liuid her iiohlest (ires, 
And deeoralethu verse herself inspii'es: 
'J'his I'uet in Vii'die's name let C'lvihhe attest; 
Thou;jh nalure's sieriiest painter, ^et tin; hcst. 

Anil hei'e lei Shee :nid ;4euins (iiid ii plae(!,f 
Whose lien and peueil yield an i-ipnd ;;iaee ; 
To t:ui(le whose hands the sister arts eomhinc, 
And traee the poet's or tin; painter's line; 
\Vlio-.e ma;,''i(^ loueh can hid the canvas ^^low, 
Or pour Ihe easy rhyiiKt's li:n'uionious How; 
While hon<n's, doulily nieriled, nllend 
The poet's rival, hiil the painter's friend. 

IJlest is Ihe man who dares appi'oacli Ihe howcr 
Wiiere dwell the muses at their natal hour; 
Wlios(! steps have press'd, whose eye has inai'k'd afar, 
The clime ihal nursed the sinis of son;^' niid war, 
1'lie scenes which jilory still must hover o'ei', 
ller jilace of hii'th, her own Achiiiim shore. 
]lut douhly hiesi, is he whose Iieart expands 
With hallow'd fe(.'lint;s for those elassie lands: 
Who rends the V(ul of a;;'es Ion;;' j^one hy, 
And vi<:ws lh<;ii' I'einnants willi a poet's eye! 

* Ilfnry Kliki^ Willie ilicil at CiimbrldKO In OcIoIxt, 1800, In coiiMCfiiiPncn of 
too iiiiicircxiilii?!! ill Ilie piMsiiil of Kliidli's thill would have iiiiitiircd a iiiIikI 
wliji'h clJHi-am' mill poviTl.v could iiol Inipiilr, and whii'li dcalh llscif clfsli-oycil 
ralhiT lliiiii Miliihii'd. Ilh poi'inH alioiind In kikIi hraiillcs as mminI liiipii-Ks Iho 
ri-adiT wjlh Ihi' liicllcsi n-Kn-l llial ko hhoii a period was ailollcd to talent* 
ivliii-ii won Id iiavi' di;,'iiilled cvi'ii tiicHaorcd fniicllonH Ik' was dcslliicU toanDUmc. 

t ill-. .Shfc, anliior of " Khvnics on Xvi," and " lOhnicnls of Art." 



/ 



444 EXGLlsii r>Aru)S 

Wrii::lit ! 'twiis tliy lisinpv lot. iit oiico to view* 
Tlnwi' shori's of i;'lory, ami to sin;;' tlu'iii too; 
Anil siiri.' no coininou imisi" ins|)irt'il tliy ]wn 
To hail tlu' laiul of ji'ods ami jioitliki' iiu-ii. 

And yon, associate bards! who snateh'd to li^lit + 
Those jii'Mis too lonj,' withheld from niodi'rn si^iii ; 
Whose minulinj;' taste eoniliined to eull the wreath 
M'here Allie llowers Aoniaii odors hivathe, 
And all tiieir i'eno\ated tVa^ranee lliiiiu', 
To fi'raee the iH'anlii's of your native tontine; 
l^ow let those minds, thai nolily eonld transfuse 
The jilorious spirit of the (ii'eeian muse, 
Tliou;;'h sofi the echo, seorn a hori'owM tone : 
llesiyn Aehaia's lyre, anil strike your own. 

Let these, or sueh as these, with just apiilause 
llestoi-e the nnise's \iol:ilecHa\vs ; 
Hut not in tlimsy Darwin's pompous chime. 
That nii,L;'lily master of nnuu-anim,' iliynu'; 
A\'hose ;;ilded cymliaN, more adorn'd than t'lear, 
Till' eye delii.'hled, hut fi!i;;ued the ear; 
In show the sim))le lyre could once surpass, 
But now, worn down, ajipcar in native brass; 
M'hile all his train of hoverin;;' sylj^s aronnd 
ICvaporate in similes and sound: 
]liin let liicm shun, with him let tinsel die: 
J'alsc i;larc alti'acts, but more ollends the eye. J 

Yet let Ihcm not to \ ul;;ar \\di-dsworth stoop, 
The nieane--t object of the lowly ^'rou)), 
Whose verse, of all but clu'ldisl'i prattle void, 
Seems blessed harmony to Land) and Lloyd : ^S 
Let theur-Hut hold, my muse, nor dare to teach 
A .strain far, far beyond thy iuunble reach : 
The native ;;enins with their l)einu' yiven 
A\'ill point the path, a:ul peal their notes lo heaven. 

And thou, too, Scott ! resii;n to minstrels rude j| 
The wililer slogan of a border lend : 
Let others spin their mea;jre lines t'or hire; 
Enonfih forficnins, if itself inspire! 
liCt Soutliey sini;', although his teeminjj^ muse, 
I'l'olilic every spriuj;', be too |irof\ise; 
lA't simple \\ ordsworth chime his childish verse, 
And brother ('olerid;;e lull the liabe at nurse; 
Let siH'etre-monn-erinj;' Lewis aim, at most. 
To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost; 

* Ml-. Wrialit, tall' Consiil-CioiK'ral for tl\o Soven Isliuuts, is autlior of a vorv 
tii'inUHiil iicn'in just piihlislu'd. It is ciilitlcil "llortv loiiii'a'," ami is dosiTiptivo 
(if tlir isles iuiii iKljiu'ciU coiisl of (ircfcc. 

t Tlu' traiisliiloi-s of tlu' " Aiillioloyv " liavo siiu'o |iiiliiislu'(l sopnrato pooius, 
wlili'h I'vim-c f;oiiiiis lliat oiil.\ i-i'(|iiin's op|iortauilv to iitlJiiii ciiiiiU'iK't'. 

X 't'lii' itcjrli'ct of till' " Ilotaiiir Canli'ii " is soiiif proof of rctiiniiiig taste. Tlic 
scenoi-y is Its solo rccoimncmliuloii. 

§ Mossrs. I.iimli and tJo.vil, Ihc most iKiiolilo follmvors of Soutlio.v ami Co. 

il B,v the liy, t liopo tlml'iii Mr. .Snitt's in'Xt poem, liis liiro or liefoine wilt l)o 
less aiUilcti'ii to " (ii-iimarye, " ;nul moiv to ufanuuar, Ilian the Lady of the Lay, 
ftiiil tier bravo, William of Deloiaiue. 



A\D SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 445 

Let Moore Itc lewd : let Stranji-ford steal from Moore, 

And swear that Camoens s-mv^ sik'Ii notes of yore; 

Let Ilayle}' hobble on, .Montgomery rave, 

And i^odly (jrahanie chant a stupid' stave ; 

Let sonneteer! n;,' Howies liis strains refine. 

And whine and whimper to the fonrteenth line; 

Let Stott, Carlisle,* .Matilda, and the rest 

Of (Ji-ub .Street, and of Grosvenor Place the best, 

Scrawl on, till death release us from the strain. 

Or Common Sense assert her rii^hts ajrain. 

But thou, with powers that moc^k tiie aid of praise, 

Shouldst leave to humbler bards i;:noble lavs : 

Thy country's voice, the voice of all the Nine, 

Demand a hallow'd harp— tliat harp is thine, 

Say! will not Caledonia's annals yield 

The "ilorious recoril of some nobler ticld. 

Than the wild foray of a plunderiii<i- clan. 

Whose proudest deeds dis^^race tiie irame of man ? 

Or Marmion's acts of darkness, titter food 

Foroulhnv'd Sherwood's tales of IJobin Hooil ? 

Scotland! still proudly claim thy native bard, 

And be thy praise liis first, his best reward! 

Yet not with thee alone his name should live, 

But own the vast renown a world can give; 

Be known, ]ierchance, when Albion is no more, 

And tell the tale of what she was before ; 

To future times her faded fame recall. 

And save her glory, though his count ly fall. 

Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope, 
To conquer ages, and with time to cope ? 
New eras spi'ead their wings, new nations rise, 
And other victors fill the ajjplauding skies ;t 
A few brief generati(jns fleet along. 
Whose sons forget the poet and his song : 

* It may b(?asked wliy I liave rousurcil the Earl of Carlisle, my (niarilian and 
relativ..., t.. wh.Hii I ,l<-.li<alc(i a v.,lumo.,C puerile poems a few years .-,.", The 
Suanliaiisliip wasnoiiiiiial, at leastsotaras I have been able to (l.sc<rver- the 
relationslMp I cannot liel).. an,! am very sorry for it ; hut as his lordship seemed 

!vi'l!n/r''''ii;lrT?'T',''''''' .';'■'■•',''';'' '"me, I shall not burden mv memorv 
«ith the n.olleetion. J do not thinit that personal differences sanction the un- 
just eondemnalion ot a brother scribbler: but I see no reason why thev should 
act as a preventive, when the author, noble or ignoble, has for a series "of veo-t 
beguiled a •' discerning public" (as the advertisements have it) with divers 
reams of most orthodox, imperial nonsense. Besides. 1 do not step asi.le o 
vituperate the Earl: no-his works come fairly In review witli those of other 
patrician literati Jf, before I escaped my teens, I said anvthiiiK in lavor of his 
or.lsliii, s p.-,per books, it was in the way of dutiful dedication, and more from 
the a.lvi.-,. .,( others than my own judgment, and I seiz.. the hist opnortunitv of 
|ir.,no„ii<iim my siiu-erc rccantati.Mi. J have heard tlial sonic iiciso iis coiieeive 
|i..tol,ci„idcro,h;..,„i„iistol.„nl Carlisle: if so. I shall he most panic ilarlv 
happ.y to learn ^^h,■,t Ih.y arc. and when conferred, that thcv mav I,,, lulvappre- 
ciated and puhluly a. kiiowledKcd. What I have hllll,l;i^ advance" as an 
oiMiiioii <m his printed things, I am prepared to siipp„rt. it iMc,ssar\ bv onota- 
tions (rom elefries. eulo^ries. odes, episodes, and certain facetious and dainty 
tragedies bearing his name and mark:— uaiiiiy 

" What can eniioblc knaves, or fools, or cowards' 
Alas ! not all the blood of all the Howards : " 
80 says Pope. Amen. 

t "Tollere humo, victonjue virum volitare per ora."'— Vii'.gil. 



.i\{\ i:\(;i.isii liMins; 

l''c'ii now, \vli;it (>n<-('-l()\i'il miiistirl^* soMrci' iiiMv claim, 

'I'lu' lraii--i('iil nu'iiliiMi ol' m iliihious iiiiiiU' ! 

W lieu t'Miiu''s loud Iniinii li;illi liiowii its iiohicsl hlnst, 

'I'liouuii Iohl;' till- SDUiiil, llic cclu) sli'i'|i-« tit \nM ; 

Ami ^lorv, liUc llic piui'iiix 'midst Iut lircs, 

I'lxludi's lu r iidoi's, l)l;i/A's, niid i'\iiiros. 

Sliidl luiiir\' (Jr;ml:i cnll lu-r ssiMo sons, 
I'AiU'rl ill scu'iu'c, more cviH-rl ill |iiiiis ? 
[>liiiil ilu'si" !i|iiiroii('li tin- iiiiisc ? All, no! slio llics, 
And I'M'ii s|iiirns llu" j^roiil ScnloiiiMii pri/c; 
'I'lionu'li iirinliTs coiuii'sci'iid liic jiri'ss to soil 
With riiviiii" liy lloiiro, siiid opic lilmik liv llovli-: 
Mot liiiii whoso pii;j:o, if still nplicld liv wliist," 
Hc'iliiii'i'S no s;icri"(l (liciiu- to liid lis list.* 
Ye! who ill (iiMiitii's lumors would surpass, 
Musi niouiil lu'i- i'cLiiisus, II l'till-L;rowii ass; 
A I'omI well worthy ot' lirr ii'v-iiMit d;iiii, 
WlioM- llrliron is dulK'r lii:iii lu-.'Cam. 

Tin Ml' (larko, still slrivini;' pitoonsly "to ploaso," 
ror^ii'tliiiLr doji'^ri'l U'lids not lo doiifcos, 
A would-hf satii'ist, a hired hntVoon, 
A inonildv scrihhlcr ot' somo low lauipoon, 
t'ondi'inud to dnnlLiO, llu' moaiu'st ot the uuMii, 
And I'urliish riilsi'hoi>ds lor a nuiLia/ino, 
Dovotos to scaiulal his conj^onial mind; 
lliiusolf a liviiijjf lihcl on maiiUiiul f 

(Hi! dark asylum of a \"andal i-aco! J 
At oiiiT ilu' lioasl of Icarniiiu' and disuraro; 
ISo sunk in diiliu'ss, and so lost lo shaino. 
Thai SiUNlhi' and 1 lod^soii scarct' r.-dci'in thy lauu'I^'i 
Ihil wlu'ii' fair Isis rolls hor purer wavo, 
'I'lu" pai'lial muse doli;;'liU'd lovos to lavi>; 
()n hor uriH'ii hanks a a'reoiu'r wn-atli is wove, 
To crown the hards that haunt her classic <irovc ; 
M'iicre Kichards wakes a ueimiiie poet's tires, 
.Vnd niodeiii Urilons justly praise their sires. || 

I'or me, who, thus uuask'd, have dared lo tell 
M\ counlry, what her sons should know loo wi'U, 

* Tlio "tJiinu's of llovli'," well kiidwii to tlio votaries of wlilsl, clu'ss, ,ti\, nrf 
not to l>i> siipcrs.'ili'il I'lv tlH> vaiiarlcs <il' Ills pocllral naiiicvaUo. « liosr pofiii 
MOiiiprlsi'il, iis cNin-csslv stiiloil III Ihc iiilvt>rlisoiiiiail, all Ihc " I'liUiirs of 1V\ pi," 

t This pvisoM. who li;is lali'ly l><>traM'it ihf iiiosi iiiMil s.viiiploms of eonilniu'd 
nulliorsliip. Is willi'i-ol a pooiii ili'iioiiilnali'il Iho " Ait oi fli'iisiiii;. us '• liuiis 
II uoM liui-iiilo." roiilaliiiiii; lllllc pli'iisaiitn ami less pocli y. Ilr also arts as 
ii\oiillil\ siipiMullarv ami colli'ilor of ralmuiilfs I'orllu' " Salirisi. " If this iiiifor- 
miiiiU' voiMii; mini woiiUI i'\cliain;i' llu- iiun;a/.lm's for (lit- imiiluMiialk's, ami lai- 
ilt'iivoi' to lalu' a ilcrciit ili'troc In Ills iinlvorsity. It ml,i;iil vvoiiHiall.v provo luoro 
sorvliTahli' limn his pii-scal saliirw 

X '• Into I iimhrhlurslilro tin' r.iiipriMr I'imIiiis transportoil n coiislilorHhlo hoily 
of Vamliils, "- (.'iW'iid's l>t-iiiiii' iviil /■li//, imui> S-'i, vol. 11. Then' Is no reason tii 
ilolihl llu' inilh of this ass.'itloii ; Ih.' hivr.l Issllll In lili;h p.'if.'.'lion. 

§ Mr. lloilyson's name ii'iinli-cs no praise; tin'inaii who in Iraiislation illsplays 
uiiiinesllonaiile >;enliis may well he e\peeleii to e\eel in orl,i;lmil comiHisllUm, of 
wliieli It Is to lie hoped we' shall soon see n splemllil siieeimen. 

II Tlio ".Muirljilnul Urltons," im u.veellenl poem l>y Kiehanls. 



A\i) saorcii nFA'ii'Aviuts. 447 

Zoal foi' licr honor Imih' uw. lioro orij,''ii"c 
The hosl of iilioN lliiil iiil'csl, Iicr iiyc! ;'^ 
Nojiisl aiiplaiisc licr lionor'.l luiiiic sIjmII loso, 
As first ill IVci'doiii, ii(!iircs( lo llic niiisc. 
Oil ! would tliy linnls Iml ciiiiijiilc! tjiy fiiiiic, 
And rise more worlliy, Albion, oC thy niiiiic! 
Whiil Alliens wiiM iirHciciicc, ItoiiK! in j)o\vcr, 
Whrit Tyro !i|i|)ciirM in her mcridiiin hour, 
'Tis Ihino Ml oner, Cnir Alhion ! to hiivc hccii— 
Kdl'th's chicl' dictiili'csH, occitii's iiii;.|ilv ((iiccn : 
IJiit, IfoiiK^ (Iccay'd, und AthciiH sircw'il llio plnin, 
And 'lyr(^'M proud pici-s Vw. shiillcr'd in the nKiiii : 
I.iko lIu^Ho, thy Htrcn;^tli niuy Hink, in niiii linird, 
And Uritiiia fidl, the hnlwiirk of tin; world. 
Hnl let, mo cniiHo, iind droud ('(ismiiidr.i's fiilc, 
With warning'- <'vrT Hcoird al, till loo l.ilc; 
To thciiii'M l(ws lol'ly still iiiv lay coiiliiic, 
And urK'o thy hards lo Mui,,' a ,;;,mi(; lik(. ihino. 

^ Thon, hapless Uritain! la; thy rulers hlost, 

Till! Hi'iialr's ora(dcs, thy people's jest, 

.Still hear thy niodey orators ilispe'nse 

'I'he tlo\v<'rs'or I'heil.rie, tlioiii;h not of sense, 

While (;aiinin«''s eoll('a;ines hate him loi' his wit, 

And old danu) I'orlland tills {\w. place of I'itt.* 

Yet once ayaiii, adieu ! ere "this the sail 
That wafts me hence is shivering' in the jT'ile; 
And Afric's coast and Calpe's adverse liei;,'-lit,t 
And Staiiihoid's minarets must ^rreet my si;r|n, ; [■ 
'I'heiice sIimII I sliay tliroii;;li lieaiily's nativ"e clime,} 
Where Kiiir is ciiid in rocks, and cniwn'd with snows .snblimc.ll 
But should I buck return, no letter'd rti'^v, 

iShiill lira;,'- my coi onplace Ixxjk on the slu^^o. 

Let vain Valcnlia I'ival luckless Carr, II 

An<i c(|iial him whoso work he soii;,dit to mar; 

I>et Alicrdeeii mid VA'X\u still pursue ** 

I'he shad(! of lame tlirou;;li rcj^ions of vii-ti'i; 

W;iste useless thousands on their riiidi:iii IVeakH, 

Misshapen monuments and maim'd anticpics; 

And make their ;;rand saloons a t,r,.|,(.,.,ti iiiyj-t 

]''()!■ all the nnitilaled blocks (j|" art. 

Of Dardiui lours let dilettanti tell, 

1 leave loi)OHra|jhy to classic (iell ;tt 

• A frIiMi.l r.f iiiliu! Ih'Iiii; iimIumI wli.v IiIh ():nri: of V. \V!IN IlkPncd to an old 
woniiin, rciillid, ■■ Ik^ Hiipposi'd It was Iicciuimc; lie, wax punt biiurlliK." 

t Ciilpf Is llii- iiiicli-iil iiiuni' >.(■ (illinilliir. 

i NIiuiiImmiI Is IIii' 'i'lirkisli wnnl lor ('iiiistiiiilliKinli'. 

5 (JcorKl/t, |-<'rimrUul)l(MVi|-(lw l.ciMily »(■ lis liiliiil>ll:iiils. |; Ml. ('•inicnNiiii. 

1 I.iinl Viilciillii, (wlids.' irciiiniiloiiM Irnvcls HIT liirllji'ornliiK, wllli 'Un; (Icco- 
rMtl(iiiH,Kni|>lil<iil,lo|MiKrii|ililriil. iiii.l l.v|i.JKnii.lilciilJ <li-|">scil, .,ii sir.lolni Ciirr's 
iniliii'liy Kiilt, lliiil DiiIm.Ihh Hiilln! prcvciiliMl hU piircliasc oC llu! " Hiruiik'iTln 
IrclniKl,' — (III, lie, my l.i.iil! Iuih ymir lorrlslilii no iiiiiro foelliiK (or a fullow- 
toiirlHt? " Hill I wo of a tniilc,' tlu'v hiiv, .V(^ 

•• l,onl KIk'lii woiilil I'lilii p.THiiH.j.- IIS lliiit all Die flKurcs, with and without 
rios(!H, III Ills Hloiii'-sliop, arc llic work of I'lildlas; "Crcilnl .liidiciis ! " 

tt Mr. (ii'll-H "TopoKi-npliy ol-'Ci-oyaiid llliani" I'liiiiiol liill lo liisiirc the ap- 
lirolmlloii of (^vcry man possifsscd of <-lassl<-al (asic, as well lor lli.' Iiilormalloti 
Mr. (1. <'OiivcyK to llif miiiil of llio roudur, uh lor IIii'. alilllly and nsianli ilm 
rccpuciivo wurkii Ulnpluy. 



448 EXGLISn BARDS 

And, quite content, no more shall interpose 
To stun mankind with poesy or prose. 

Thus far I've held my undisturh'd career, 
Prepared for rancor, steel'd Vainst selfish fear; 
This thinjj: of rhyme I ne'er disdain'd to own — 
Thougli not obtrusive, yet not quite unl<nown, 
M}' voice was heard again, though not so loud, 
My page, though nameless, never disavow'd ; 
And now at once I tear the veil away : — 
Cheer on the pack — the quariy stands at bay, 
Unscared l)y all the din of Melbourne House, 
By Lambe's resentment, or by Holland's spouse, 
By Jeffrey's harmless pistol, tlallani's rage, 
Edina's brawny sons and brimstone page. 
Our men in buckram shall have blows enough, 
And feel tliey too " are penetrable stuff: " 
And though I hope not lieuce unscathed to go, 
Who conquers me shall find a stubborn foe. 
The time hatli been, when no harsh sound would fall 
From li]is that now may seem imbued with gall ; 
Nor fools nor follies tempt me to despise 
The meanest thing that crawl'd beneath my eyes; 
But now, so callous grown, so changed since youth, 
I've learn'd to think, and sternly speak the truth ; 
Learn'd to deride the critic's starch decree. 
And break him on the wheel he meant for me ; 
To spurn the rod a scribbler bids me kiss, 
Nor care if courts and crowds applaud or hiss : 
Nay more, though all my i-ival rhymesters frown, 
I too can hunt a poetaster down ; 
And, arm'd in proof, the gauntlet cast at once 
To Scotch marauder, and to southern dunce. 
Thus much I've dared to do ; how far my lay 
Hath wrong'd these righteous times, let others say": 
This, let the world, which knows not how to spare, 
Yet rarely blames unjustly, now declare. 



AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. 449 



POSTSCRIPT. 

I HAVE been informed, since tlie present cflition went to the press, that my 
trusty and well-beloved cousins, the Edinburgh Keviewers, are preparing a most 
vehement critique on my poor, gentle, unresisting Muse, whom they have 
already so bedevilled with their ungodly ribaldry: 

" Tantajne animis coelestibus irae." 

I suppose I must say of Jeffrey as Sir Andrew Aguecheek saith, "An I had 

known he was so cunning of fence, I liad seen him d d ere I had fought him." 

What a pity it is that I shall be beyond the Bosphorus before the next number 
has passed the Tweed. Cut I yet hope to light my pipe with it in Persia. 

Jly Northern friends have accused mo, with justice, of personality towards 
their great literary anthropophagns, Jetlrey; but what else was to be done with 
liim and his dirty pack, who feed by " lying and slandering," and slake their 
thirst by " evil speaking"? I have adduced facts already well known, and of 
Jeffrey's mind I have stated my free opinion, nor has he tlience sustained any 
injury; — what scavenger was ever soiled by being pelted with mudV It may he 
said that I quit England because I have censured tliere " persons of honor and wit 
aii^iut town ; " but I am coming back again, and tlieir vengeance will keep hot 
till my return. Those who know me can testify that my motives for leaving 
England are very different from fears, literary or personal; those who do not, 
may one day be convinced. Since the publication of this thing, my name has 
not been concealed; I have been mostly in London, ready to answer for my 
transgressions, and in dally expectation of sundry cartels; but, alas! "the age 
of chivalry is over," or, in the vulgar tongue, there is no spirit nowadays. 

There is a youth yclept liewson Clarke (Siibaudi Esquire), a Sizor of Emanuel 
College, and I believe a denizen of Berwick-npon-Twced, whom I have intro- 
duced in these pages to mncli better company than lie has been accustomed to 
meet; he Is, notwithstanding, a very sad dog, and for no reason that I can dis- 
cover, except a personal quarrel with a bear, kept by me at Cambridge to sit for 
a fellowship, and whom the jealousy of his Trinity contemporaries prevented 
from success, has been abusing me, aiid, what is worse, the defenceless innocent 
above mentioned, in the " Satirist," for one year and some mouths. I am utterly 
unconscious of having given him any provocation; indeed, I am guiltless of 
having heard his name till coupled with the " Satirist." He has therefore no 
reason to complain, and I dare say that, like Sir Fretful Plagiary, he is rather 
pleased than otherwise. I have now mentioneil all who liavcdcme nic the honor 
to notice me and mine, that is, my hear and my book, except the Editor of the 
•' Satirist," who. It seems, is a gentleman, C.od wot'. I wish he could impart a 
little of his gentihty to his subordinate scribblers. I hear that Mr. Jerningham 
is about to take up ths cudgels for his Mscenas, Lord Carlisle; I hope not; he 
was one of the few who. in the very short intercourse I had with him, treated 
me with kindness when a boy, and whatever he may say or do, " pour on, I will 
endure." I have nothing further to add. save a general note of thanksgiving to 
readers, purchasers, and publisher; and, in the words of Scott, I wish 
" To all and each a fair good night. 
And rosy dreams and slumbers light." 

29 



THE WALTZ: 

AN APOSTROPHIC HYMN 



' Qualis in Eurota; ripis, aut per jiiga Cynthi, 
Excrcet Diana clioros. " Virgil 

Such on Eurotas' banlis, or Cyntliia's Iieiplit, 
Diana seems: and so slie cliarms tlie sight, 
When in the dance tlie jrracefiil goddess leads 
The quire of nymphs, and overtops tlieir heads." 

Drtden's Virgil. 



TO THE PUBLISHER. 

Sis I am a country gentleman of a midland county. I might have been f. 
parluiment-man tor a certain borougli, having had the otter of as many votes 
as general T. at the general election in 18L2.* But I was all for domestic happi- 
ness; as, fifteen years ago, on a visit to London, I married a middle-aged maid 
of honor. We lived happily at Hornem Hall till last season, when my wife and 
I were invited by the Countess of Waltzaway (a distant relation of my spouse) 
to pass the winter in town. Thinking no harm, and our girls being cume to 
a marriageable (or, as they call it, marketahJe) age, and having besides a Chan- 
eery suit inveterately entailed wyiow the family estate, we came up in our old 
chariot. — of which, by the by, my wife grew so much ashamed in less than a 
week, that I was obliged to buy a second-hand barouche, of which I might mount 
the box, Mrs. H. says, if 1 could drive, but never see the inside — that place behig 
reserved for the Honorable Augustus Tiptoe, her partner-general and opora- 
knlght. Hearing great praises of Jlrs. H."s dancing, (she was famous for birth- 
night minuets in the latter end of the last century,) I nnbootcd, and went to a 
ball at the Countess's, expecting to see a country dance, or, at most, cotillions, 
reels, and all the old paces to the newest tunes. But judge of my surprise, on 
arriving, to see poor dear Jlrs. Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a 
huge hussar-looking gentleman I never set eyes on before: and his, to say 
truth, rather more than half round her waist, turning round, and round, and 

round, to a d d see-s.iw up-and-do^\-n sort of tune that reminded me of the 

" Black Joke," only more affetuoso, till it made me quite giddy with wonder- 
ing they were not so. By and by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would 

* State of the poll (last day) o. 

450 



THE WALTZ. 



451 



sit or fall down:-but no; with Mrs. II.'s hand on his shoulder, quam familia- 
nter*Uxs Terence said when I wus at school,) they walked about a minute 
and then at it again, like two cockchafers spitted upon the same bodkin. I 
asked what all this meant, when, with a loud luugh, a child no older than our 
^VlllK■lmllla, (a name I never heard but in the Vicar of Wakefleld, though her 
m..tl!orw,.uUlcall her after the I'rincess of Swappenbacli,) said, "Lord! Mr 
Ilornem, can't you see they arc vallzlng!" or waltzing (I forget wliich) ; and 
then up she got, and her mother and sister, and away they went, and round- 
abouted it till supper-time. Now that I know what it is, I like it of all thin-s 
and so docs Mrs. II. (though I have broken my shins, and four tln.es ovcrturn''e(l 
Mrs. Hoinems maid, in practising the preliminary steps in a mocjiing.) Indeed 
so much do I like it, that having a turn for rhyme, tastily displayed in some elec- 
tion ballads, and songs in lu.nor of all the victories, (but till lately I have had 
little practice in that way,) I sat down, and with the aid of William Fitzgerald 
Ksq., and a few hints from Dr. Busby, (whose recitations I attend, and am 
monstrous fond of Master Busby's manner of delivering his father's late suc- 
cessftil •• Drury Lane address, ") I composed the following hymn, wherewithal to 
make my sentiments known to the public: whom, nevertheless, I heartily 
despise, as well as tlie critics.— I am. sir, yours, .tc. .fcc, 

HOKACE IIOENEM. 

• My Latin is all forgotten, if a man can be said to have forgotten what bo 

i Z^'sbillin'/f \,^''f f """^'ll' u.y title-page motto or/ Cat holic"priest ,b? 

cr, . rHn,l?^ l-ank-token, after much haggling for the even sixpence. I 

f. , . 7r -'[^ f'" V *" " ""''"*'• '''■'"« •■'" '■"'■ the memory of Perceval and " No 

iTii',^.;;-*."""^ regretting the dowufaU of the pope, because we can't burn 



THE WALTZ. 



■MiSK of ll\o Tiiiiiiy-twinklinjr fi'ot !* whoso chunus 
Ai'i' now cMfinloil iii> fi'om loi;'s to anus; 
TiMlisiclion- ! — too loiii;' iiiisdocniM !i maid — 
lu'iuoarlilul Ii'i'in lu'slowM l>iit to (i|ihraiil — 
lUiirciortli ill all tin- liroii/o of hiiulitiioss sUiiio, 

'I'lu' li'ast !i voslal ot'llio vii'^iu Nine 

I'ar lu' I'l'oni tlioo and tliino tlio nanio of ]inido; 
MoilvM, vol Irinni|ilianl ; snoorM at, unsubdnod ; 
'\'U\ loi:^ must movo to oonijuor as iliov llv, 
If Imii ihv ooats aro roas(Uial>ly lii,L;ii; 
Tliy hroast -if l>aio ououi;li I'oiiiiiros iu> -;liiold; 
l>anco I'ortli sons iirnior thou slialt tako tho fioUl, 
.Vud own — iniproLi'ualilo to most a-ssaidts, 
'I'liy not loo law fnllv hofjottou " WiUt/.." 

Hail, uiiuMo uynii>i\ ! to wlioin fho youuii" hussiir, 
Tlio wlii^kor'd volaiy ol'walt/ and war, 
llis niulit dovotos, do<pito of spuf ami lioots; 
A si'^lu unmatoli'd sinoo t)ri>lions and liis lirnios; 
Hail, s|iiril--:lii'rini;' Walt/! — lu-noatli wlioso l)annoi"S 
A modoru lioro fonylit l\>i- nuuli-ili niannor-;; 
On Honn<low's hoatli to ri\al W ollosloy's fanio.t 
CookM lirod— and niissM his man — hut ji'aiuM his aim ; 

* " C.ljnu'o tlnMr intuiy -twinkling ft>ot." — Ok.vt. 

t To rival l.cml Wollcslfv's, or Ills m plu'w's, jis t\w n>juUM- plonsos : — tho ouo 
jralni'il ii iMvtlv wiimjni, wiiom lio licsoivcil, liv lijiluliij; for; mul llu> oIIut Iuis 
tiecii llvlUIni; in llu' IV'niiisala nianv ii loiii; <l:i.\ . " liv Sliivwshurv olook," vviilioiit 

falaiiiiraaMliiinrin f/iiit oouniry iuil Ilir lliio of "the Kivat "l.oiil.' iia<l " llu< 
.onl;" wliKli siivors of piMl>inati«i>, having lu'on hitlici'to aiiplinl onlv to tliat 
Uoiiij; to \vlion\ 7V /V«m.< for i'arn«v»> aiv llio raiikcsi lilaspluaiiy. '.t is to lio 
Urosuiiii'il that tlio j^'tioral will oao day rctani to liis Sal>iiu' tana; ilioro 
" Totaaio tho«tMiias of tlic siiililiorn iilalii. 
Almost (IS i/iiitHi!/ as lu< roiKiuci't'il Spain 1 " 
Tlio l.onl IVtorlumaiuh romiiu'ivd i'oiitiiuiils in a snainu'r: wo do iiioi'i' — wo 
oonnlvo liolli to ooiupiov and loso tluan in a sliortor soason. If tlio '■i;i-oat 
l.onl's " (Vai'i'iiiiii^'ini iirotfivss in ai:rloultniv do no siioodior than llio pn>por- 
tlonal avorano of lliuo in Popo's ooiiplol, it will, rtoooitlinK lo tho farmor's pro- 
vorh, ho '■ i>loni;liinj; witli ilojis." 

Ity tho hy. Olio of this illustrious porson's now titlos Is fowttton; It Is, how- 
ovor. worlii ivnioinliorliis;; "SotvniU'r il)-/ miiHilo.'" crftiilr'. f>osti-ri.' If this tio 
Uio appollat ion anaoxod l>y tlio Inhaliitaiits of tho IVuiiisiila to tho namu of it 

4,V2 



77/a; iVA/.rz. 4;';3 

Ildil, movitifr Muse! to whom tlio fair onc'n brcaat 

(jiv( H all it I'iiri, ittid Itiils iih inki: the rcMt. 

Oh lor the (low of MiiMl.y, oi' of Kitz, 

'I'lic hiltrT'n loyiilly, the roriiicr'n wits, 

To " cii(,T;riy-<! lh<-' ol)j(;cl, I piirmu;," 

And give both lielial and hin dance tlieir due ! 

fiMpcrial VV'iillz! irrir)Oi1c(l from fhi; Uliinc, 
(I'"iiriicil i'liv till' ;!i'owlli of \>fi\i'^y(:cn hiiiI wine,) 
I>on;_'' Itctliinc iiii|)oit from all duly fVcf, 
And liock it-sell' !)(• lesH OHleeiriM than thee: 
In sottic I'ew <|ualilics alike — Cor hock 
Irrifii-rjves our ciMnv—fhou oui' livin;^' slock. 
Tlic licail to hock l)clonj,'s — Ihy Huhller art 
Inloxiciiics alone I lie lieedlertH hcai1 ; 
'J'hrouyh the lull veiiiH thy tfi'iiller poison swims, 
And wakcM lo wantonnexs the wil]in;< linihs. 

(J Cjennany! how nnich U> thee we owe, 
A« heaven-horn I'ilt can t('stiry hclow, 
Ere <;nr.M(;d conlederalion ma<le llie<; J''ranf;c'«, 

And only left iih thy d <l dehls and dances! 

Of siihsidif.'s and Manover hcrcf't, 

W'e hlcsH Ihee still -for r;cor;.'e the ThinI is left! 

Of kin;rs tli<' hcMt — ;tiid last, not l(;asl in worth, 

]''or ;rraciously hej/'cltin^ (jJeor^re the l-'oiiilh. 

I'o (ieriiiany, and lii;;linesHeH HM't'tui, 

Who owe us iiiillions — don't wc ow(! the (|ucen ? 

'I'<j (ierinany, wliat owe we not liesidcs ? 

80 ofl hfrslowin;^' Hi'iinswickcrs and l)rii|es : 

Who paid for viil^i^ar, with licr royal Moorl, 

l^rawn from the stem of each Teiiloiiic stud; 

Who sent us- ho he panloiiM a,ll her faidls — 

A dozen dukes, some kin;X''> a <jiici;n — and Walt/ 

Hut |>eaf'e to her — her emperor an<l di<'t, 
Thoii^.'-h now Iransfcrr'd to Ijiionapartc's " fiat!" 
Hack to my theme- O jMiise of motion! say, 
]Iow first it) Albion found thy Waliz her way ? 

Horne on the breath of hyperborean jralcH, 
From Haml)ur;.'-'s iiort (wbii<: I la m bury yet had /"'A'.'*) 
Jv'c yet, unliie|;y I'ame -coniiieJlM lo creep — 
'J'o snowy (iottenbiir'.'' — was chill'd to sh-cp; 
Or, starting.' from her slumbei's, (leijrn'd arise, 
Heligoland, to stock thy mart with lies; 

man wlio liaH not yot Havcd tlicm — f|iif;r.v, nrn tlicy wortti Havlna, even |r t'ltf 
world? for. accordliitr I" Hi'; iiillrlchl iiifidKlialloiiH of any ('lirltdliiii creed, ttioflf! 
tlirci' wordK rniikc Hie (pildx kiikIi iiKiiliiHl llietn In lln' iir'xt. " Havlrair of ttio 
world." (iiKpIIih I — It were lo lie wIhIiciI thai he, or am oiii' iIhc, could tiavc a 
corner fit it — IiIh cmiiilry. Vet tliiK filii|ilil iiilHiiorii T. iiltlioiiKli It hIiowm tlic near 
eoiiiicctldii tictwccn Mii|)<THtllloti anil liiipli-l v. ko farliiiH itn UHC.tlial It proves 
tlieri- can lie little to dread fnnii tlii.he r ntliollcs dniiiiiMlturlMl CatliollcH ton) who 
can lonfcrhiich an appilhiljcai on a I'loli'slant. I mipposi; next year li'' will \n'. 
untitled Hie " VIrKlii Mary:" If h«p. I,i>ril CeorKC (iordoii tilmntdf would have 
Qottiliig to ohjbct to HUch liberal Ijanlard* of our Lady of iiuhylon. 



J., I Tin: \i ii.rx, 

Wliilo unltnnit Mosrow vol Imtl iiovvs (o moiuI,* 
Nin' t>\V('(l lii'r (loiv ovil in it iVioiul, 
Slio I'linx' W alt/, riimc tiiul \\i(li lu-r coi'liiiu sol» 
(M'lnii' ilo-<|iiii('ln"*, mill »•< IriU' n"''*''l<''< . 
'I'lii-ii lliiiiii'il mC Au>lt'ilil/. ll»> lilt'M (li'N|>iil<-li, 
\\ hit'li Mnuiiciii' iiKi' Mi>rmi»>{' I'omI ciin iimU'l); 
Ami iilmosl ^'^ll^l^'^l l>oiu>iitli )l»i< nloiimiH lU'Wi 
'l\'i\ i>li»\», iiuil l\i\'i,\ lalt'i of l\iil«i'lmt''» ; 

Clio Oll\(l\'s lodOI'x, .^iv OUIll|lU.Sv'r>' nil'!*, 

Aiiil IdtnU iVum I'liiiiklurl uiul iVuiii Loiiinio n»i>'!«; 
Moiiior's loiii- \iihiiuoM ii|n>n womiiiilxiiul, 
l.iUo 1 ,!iiil,ni(l wilolios 111 iioiino ii wiml; 
|trmi<'lv'> lioii\io-.| loiuo I'm' liiillii-.|, iiiul, li> liaok il. 
(>r II.Ni\,', Muli ii> slmiiM no! ,'.iiiU tlio imoKol. 

I'"niiii;lil willi tliii oiic)-'!! tiiiil lioi- lUi»-»'sl iNt'iglit, 
Uoliiilid'ul \\ iilu, on tijiliio \'ov It iiiiKo. 
'rilv> WoloolllO Vl'-JNol I'v-iioliM llio j^-oiiiiil striiiiil, 
Aiiil I'oiiml lior llook'.l llio iliitij^litois nl'ilio liiiiil. 
Not ilo.'oiil hitviil, wli.Mi. Iiol'oio llio iii'k, 
IliN ijriiiid />(i,v-,\f(*/ oxoiloil >oiuo loiiiiirU ; 
Not l(i\o lorn t^)iii\olo, wlion lii> Siinilio lliotijbtitt 
Tlio kiii>;ln's lUndiinuo iVi'^kioi' tlmn ii onnli( ; 
Noi ^ol'^ lli'i'tiiliitN, vvltoit, Willi winiims^ H'osiil, 
I lor ninililo Tool ilunood olV munlioi'.s Itottil ; 
Not « 'loojuitrit on lioi' >;itllov's (look, 
I'lNpliiv 'ti >o miioli ol" A I/, or iiioro ol" tti-rfc, 
'riiMii tlioii. iiiiiliro-.iiil Willi/, wlioii llrst (In- ni,i,Mi 
UolioUl ilu-o i\virliii>{ toil Sii\on tiiiio! 

'I'v' _\ on, _> o liiisliiiiuU ol" Ion \ oiirv ! w l>o->o l>ii>\\ -i 
.\oln> Willi llio iiniiniil iriluilos of u >|ii>nso; 
To \oii ol" nino \o!ir> lo^s, wlidoiilv hour 
'llio Innlilinu >|ii'>>iil'i ol'tlio-^o iliiil \ on s/tuli \vv>iir, 
W iili iiililoil ornttiiionis tironiul llioni roIlM 
oriiiiiivo liriiss, or liiw iiwtinloil ^oM; 
To von, _\ o iuitln)n>, ovor on tlio wuioli 
To iiiiir It .■•on'>, or iiiitko it ilmtfi'lilor's, iniitoli; 
To _\ on, \ v> oliililron of w lioin oli!tno(> stoooixls^- 
Ahvotis llio knlios, ttiul xi'iih-finus llioir IoihIs; 
To \on, vi' Niiis^lo u'oKlloiiioii. wlio >ot>k 
Tornionl'> loi lil'o, or |iloii>.nr»'s lor ti wook ; 

♦ Tlio iiiililoili' iii"«iiii ul' .mi' iimliililo iillli>s i-iiiniol lin siill\i'loiill,\ timimoniloil 
— ttv>i' KliliNj'illU'd lUr Amonijxi villu'i- ilcliilU KliitlliHl hi ilu> ViViioiH iIoniuiu ln's 
of our I'loijiionl «iiiliit!»»>l>ii', ho iliil iml ximo 0>olii« loo imioli oooiniloil wiili iho 
o\|i|olU ol »\>loiiol V , III ,\\Mi(uulii)i rlvoi'> l^\>»«-ii, iiinl k;:illvi|i(ini ovof i\mi|s 
liiHi)lxsiiMo,> lliiil oiioonlliH> ni\>\ 11100 (loilsliod l\\ lUmliio In llio moNl uioliiiioliolv 
iiiiiinior, lis l\>Uo\\x;— III lioiioiiil Uo!,|o|>olitir» ooiwiimuiiiio oomliiiiiMlion, llio 

OOllMllimllOll ol' IllllOW inUl Ilillll oil \MI-t NO (JlVill, lIUll llio lll:ll'kol WiK liwi.lo 

i|ll<llo lo tlio ,loiiiiiilil; iiiitl lliiiv Olio liiiiiili'oil mill llili'lv lliivo llioiis.iiia inisoiin 
WolN'sljllvo.l lv> iloiilli, li\ liohK lo.lii.'ovl lo \\liolo>oiiio ,llol, I'lio liiiii|i l(.:hioiv 
ol' l.iMi.loii liiivo »liioo Milij.oiil>o»l II )>liil (.ol'oll) il (iiooo, .'Ool llio Ijill.nv .lijiiulloi> 
llitvo llllillllliKMlNlv voloti il i|llilllUI.\ ol' llio Ix'Sl iiioiiliU vli'lll'lo llio iioiilith to lllv> 
t'ollol" ol llio Mir\ hliiv! .SoMliliiii-.; -llio ^oiH^'ll,\ will so.m, lu mioIi oNoriloiiN, uml 

It hl\<|lor itIIOIIIIOIl lO llio \JH>»htV I'illllOl' Ilillll llio <|llillllll\ ol |1|\>\ Isloii, llO lolill|.V 

itliovlitloil. II U !>iilil, In ivtiii'li, lliiil llio tiiiloiiolioa I'ki'iillio liiix miIim'I'IIkhI 
tiM.V tlt\itl»itll(l l>oo\v>a> ItU' (t iltv,>'» ittiHll to out' attliot'ltig iiiittlttlUoltttVl')i. 



rill, w Ai/r/.. 455 

A* \j»vc itr KvKnni your i-ixhsdvorw uiMt;, 
'I'd t^uiii >«(iii' own, or miiiiI''Ii itiiolli'T k Ifii'Uj}— 
To o(n; (Ki'l all iIk! lovffly »!lniii;,'<,'r ciimi', 
A/wl every l»(ill-rooi»i ikJum;* widi lici' itiimi;, 

Jvii'lfiii'iii^i; Witif/, ! -to lliv (iiore iiicltiiij^ luiwi 
liow Irixli ji;<', mid iiif-ienl, ji;{;t<looii. 
Heol<'h I'lfr-U, iiMiiiiil ! Mii'l '•ouii(ry'(|iiii/'(', IV/j-cjfo 
Volir I'Mllir'' cliiiiiM l<» eiM.-li ('anliiilic loi;! 
Walt/ Wall/ uloiii' lioUi I' j/ii anil arnm ileiiiunij*, 
iyilieial ot I'l'irt, aii'l lavioli ol' liir lian'U; 
JluniU wliii'li niay IVt.'ely mn;<i; in )Mil4ie itii^lit 
Wli<!r<; w.'i-A' l«;for<! -I;ul, pmy " piil, out l.hi; li({lil," 
Mi-liiink<i (Ik; kI'h'" "f yii^urr <'lian<|ili<:r 
hliinex nincli t/ni I'ai' or i uni nni<'|| (oo near; 
And Inie, (|ion;fli Klran;;C<.' VV'alf/, wlii>s|<er» lUiit nnuut'k, 
" Aly •■.li|»)»ery titeptt ar<! nal'etil i/i llie dark ! " 
]{ilt liere llie %\i\<m: miiIi dne deeornin liiilln, 
Aifl lendn Iter imv^vni jicUicoat U> Wall/,. 

OliHcrvunl InivelJiMx of cvwy lime! 
Ye ifuarlop* |iid*li>«lt'd upon every <,'linte! 
Oil, kay, nliall dull UoniuikaV liiavy round, 
J''andan^o'x wi'i/k'''. '"' \Ui\i-\<t\ \nimv\; 
Can \"',iiy\ii'H Alniut lanlali/.in^r t<rou|) * 
C'olumMa'i! '■■.i\n'i'fV)i lo llie warlii.e wlioo|»- 
Can autflit front eo)d Kantxelialku to i'u.\)i; Jlora 
Willi Waliz eonipare, or aClir Wall/ lie \iiiytuii 
All, no! Croni Moriei''* |>m(.^i-» down lo (^aU'it, 
litu-li loiirixl (>i;)ii* u jwra;{rttjili lor " Witlty,," 

Hliitden o/' (lioxe liellen wl»o>>« wjIkii U?^«»n Kif yore, 
Willi (ieoij,'!! the 'I'liird'it «ud <;nd<:d li/iix imiiin.l— 
'i'liouyli in your dau;<lileix' dau^/litirro yi-l vou llirivc, 
Jiurnt IVoin your leail, and lie yonrnelveu alive! 
JJa<:U lo llie liall'rooin niiecil your Hiieelri.d li/ml ; 
J-'ool'* l'ara<li«M; ii> dull lo lliat you JimI, 
No lre;i''|ieroii». powde-r liidi* eonieirlurfj ({Uitke ; 
No Klllt-tlareliM nlayn iiuike iiu;<ldliii;{ tiiin<:t'n u4-\ui; 
('ri'itn>irerr'd Ut llione anilii/itoiii* lliiii/^t liiiU. a|/i: 
(ioalH in llieir vi<!a;<e, woni<;ii in tlieir >:liii|i'; ;; f 

• /WlK'lllK-trlrln— wli'i <l<; (nr UUf wUiii Wfill/ <lii(li KriilU. 

t ll I'iiiiii'it III! ''4iiii|>l.ilii''i| ii'itv, II H III I III! I.iiily lluuceii'ii; • tlriii',»f till- "HU-ut 
6n la (.'rolx." tliut llvrn tin "no wliUki-r*; " I/mi lutw fur iU'ik! iiii- IihIkuiI/iiiis of 
valiir id till! rt/'lij, or i-U<!wlii!r«. iiiiiy »tl/l ii-. nuittUnmiiU:. ilii< li iiiiiy If, mii/I 
tiutli li<-<-ii, avoiK-lii'il 'III liotli mil/'i! Ill fill </M'ii iliiti; (>lill//it/ii/li<-iK liail wlilRlti-rn, 
ttinl tol/lli-rx Ill/Ill-; Hi l|ilo IiIiiir< li ,. Ilaiiiiiliul lfi/iii|<lit lil« iht't i-yu 

IlilluUoilK! lll';ll;/ll WllllKIII U I/I.. .11, till! iiinu-fur, wnti: u litfuriJ, 

(liiivlii;; warU nil IiIk I lilii, wlili'li . . /iiirict! Huniiiu iw/r evi-ii tlii; itiiur- 

tliit iKUl'l al,lili;j 'I iiri'iiiii! Iiini f.ui.i.i , .,i,iiIIk,iv/|(p|Ii k/iiii- ; liiii/iiaiiarf/! I* 
liliwIiUliiri-il, llii! Ui-(/i';it wlilnlii-ri'il; " iirijul i/ii;«(|)im-, i,) ininil iiml Aliifcki-IK 
imiy nr inav ii"i >/,•> I'f/.'-lli'r; liiil. i-jrrlaliily lli*- illMin-nl ic iiiniiii i-.^ iirun lli« 
Kf .'vKi i/l III'- liif.l iiiiiill'iiii'l. (/ii fiirllK-r ill Nlialf nl nliUkiris lli;iii llii- uiibDj- 
eiiKi iif Aiiw-lfii illiJ nijaintt imiu littir In lliis rulj/ii nt lU'iiry I.— K'/'iiM--rly /•*-</ wan 
H liivnrtio color. Hiti! l/xli/wl/.'k Kurry » onwAiy iif Umhi AiUty, UVii, XlM. 
At;. I r— 

•' Tnfffln, Now for a Wdifi-r— Wtmlwil'/red l«?«r<l uitiu'U lu-nt iiy ttut wliuUfW'l 

" AilHuna, A Miiik iiiiiii «, I lliliik. 

" TaJfiUii. I lliliik iii/i •/( : I lliliik u rfd, fur tl.nl t« iiiof,! In riitliloii," 

Tli<;r<! U " nolliiiiK iH'W amler till; sun;" liul rW, tlii;ii a. /auoriU, im% ii/i<m 
iul>kUkd Into u/aui/riltt't iviUir, 



456 THE WALTZ. 

No damsel faints when ratlici' closely press'd, 
But more caressing seems when mo.^t caress'd; 
SupcrHuous hartshorn and rcvivin.: salts, 
Both banish'd by the sovereign conlial " Waltz." 

Seductive Waltz! — though on thy native shore 
Even Werther's self proclaim'd thee lialf a whore; 
Wcrthcr — to decent vice though much inclined, 
Yet warm, not wanton; dazzled, but not blind — 
Thougli gentle Genlis, in her strife with Stacl, 
Would even proscribe thee from a Paris ball ; 
The fasliion hails — from countesses to queens, 
And maids and valets waltz behind the scenes; 
Wide and more wide thy witcliing circle spreads, 
And turns — if nothing else — at least our heads ; 
With thee even clumsy cits attempt to bounce, 
And cockneys practise wiuit they can't pronounce. 
Gods ! how the glorious theme my strain exalts, 
And rhyme linds partner rhyme in praise of Waltz! 

Blest was the time Waltz chose for hei- df^but ; 
The court, the Regent, like herself were new;* 
New face for friends, for foes some new rewards ; 
New ornaments for black and royal guartls; 
New laws to hang the rogues that roTn^<l for bread ; 
New coins (most new) to follow those tliat tled:t 
New victories — nor can we prize them less. 
Though Jenky wonders at his own success; 
New wars, because the old succeed so well. 
That most survivors envy those who fell; 
New mistresses — no, old — and yet 'tis true, 
Though they he old, the thin;/ is sometiiing new; 
Each new, quite new — (except some ancient tricks,) + 
New white-sticks, gold-sticks, broom-sticks, all new sticks! 
With vests or ribbons, dcck'd alike in hue. 
New troopers strut, new turncoats blush in l)luc; 

So saith tlie muse ; my , what say you ? y^ 

Such was the time when Waltz might l)est maintain 
Her new preferments in this novel reign ; 

* An anachronism — Waltz and the battle of Aiistcrlitz are before saiil to have 
opened I lie ball toLrether; the bard means, (if he means" anytliins;.) Waltz was 
not so mnch in vojiue till tlie Ko^-ent attained tlie acme of lns'pii]inlnrity. Waltz, 
the comet, wliisUers, and the new sovennucnt, ilhiniinati'd heaven and eartli, in 
all tlieir .L:l(iry, niueli about the same time; of th( ^.e tlic luuii't unlv has disap- 
peared; the other three continue to astonish as still, — /'rhit,-r .t Deri/. 

t Amunjist others a now ninepence — a creditable coin now forthcoming, worth 
a pound, in paper, at the fairest calcuiation. 

J '• (111 that ri/iht should thus overcome might.'"' Who does not remember the 
"delicate investisation" in the "Merry Wives of Windsor?" — 

"Fold. Tray you, come near: if I suspect without cause, why then make 
sport at me: then let me be your jest; I deserve it. How now? "whither bear 
yon this? 

"Mrs. Ford. What have you to do whither they bear it? — you were best 
meddle with buck- wash ins;." 

§ The gentle, or fei'ocious. reader may fill up the blank as he pleases — there 
are several dissyllabic names at his service (being already in the Kegenfs) ; it 
would not be fair to back any pccidiar initial against tiio alphabet, as every 
month will add to the list now entered for tlie sweei)stakes: — a distinguished 
consonant is said to be the favorite, much against the wishes of the knowing 
ones. 



THE WALTZ. 4.57 

Such was the time, nor ever yet was such; 

Hoops are no more, and petticoats not much; 

Morals and minuets, virtue and her stays, 

And tell-tale powder— all have had their days. 

The Ixill hejiins— the honors of the liouse 

First duly done by danjihter or by spouse, 

Soine potentate — or royal or serene — 

With Kent's g-ay grace, or sapient C;io'ster's mien, 

I^eads lorth the ready dame, whose risinL^ Hush 

Might once have been mistaken for a bhish. 

From where the garb just leaves the bosom free. 

That spot where hearts Avere once supposed to be • * 

Round all the confines of the vieldcd waist, 

The stranger's hand may wander undisplaced ; 

The lady's in return may grasp as much 

As princely paunches olfer to her touch. 

Pleased round the chalkv floor how well thev trip 

One hand reposing on the royal hip ; - 1 » 

The other to the shoulder no less royal 

Ascending with affection truly loval ! 

Thus front to front the partners move or stand. 

The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand ; 

And all in turn may follow in their rank. 

The Earl of— Asterisk— and Lady— Blank ; 

Sir— Sueh-a-one— with those of fashion's host. 

For whose blest surnames — vide Morning Post 

(Or if for that impartial print too late. 

Search Doctors' Commons six months from mv date) 

Thus all and each, in movement swift or slow,' 
The genial contact gently undergo ; 
Till some might marvel, with the modest Turk, 
If " nothing follows all this palming work." f 
True, honest Mirza!— you may trust my rlivme— 
Something does follow at a fitter time ; 
The breast thus publicly resign'il to man 
In private may resist him — if it can. 

O ye who loved our grandmothers of yore, 
Fitzpatrick, Sheridan, and many more ! 
And thou, my prince ! whose sovereign taste and will 
It is to love the lovely beldames still ! 
Thou ghost of Quecnsbury ! whose judging sprite 
Satan may spare to peep a single night. 
Pronounce— if ever in your davs ot'bliss 
Asmodeus struck so bright a stroke as this } 
To teach the young ideas how to rise. 
Flush in the cheek, and languish in the eyes ; 

* * Wo have changed all that," says the Mock Doctor— -(is all iroiie-AsmodeiKi 
kr.( vs where. After all, it is of no great importance how womcns hearts arl 
■l{~^,,\l-' '"i^e "ature-s privilege to distribute them as absurdly as pos- 
sibl . lun tliere are also some men with hearts so tliorouglily bad, as to remind 
us 01 those phenomena otteii mentioned in natural history, viz. a mass of solid 
stoin-onlyto be opened by force-and when divided, you find a toad n° e 
centre, lively, and with tlie reputation of being yenomous. 

li.liVi '^^^}'^y P^ pertinent here an impertinent and superfluous question^ 
-f^^orie^lTrav^^ '" Morier, on seeing a walt^ in Pera. 



458 THE WALTZ. 

Rusli to the lioart, .iml lijrliten thrmii.>-h the frame, 
With halt'-tohl wisli and ill-disscmhlod Haine : 
For pnii'iciit nature still will storm the i)reast — 
Who, tempted thus, can answer for the rest ? 

But yo — who never felt a sinjilo thiniirht 
For wliat our morals are to be, or oii^lit ; 
Who wisely wish the eharms you view to reap. 
Say — would you make those licauties (|uitc so cheap ? 
Hot from the hands promiseuously applied, 
Hound the slight w.iisi, or down the >ilowin.Lr side, 
Where were the rapture then to clasp the torm 
From this lewd f^rasp and lawless eonlact warm ? 
At oiiee love's most ondeariu'-- thoiij;ht lesijrn, 
To press the hand so prcss'd In- none hut thine; 
To ;jaze upon that eye whieh never met 
t Another's ardent look without ref^^rel ; 

Approach the lip wiiich all, without restraint, 
Come near enoujih — if not to touch — to taint; 
If such thou lovest — love her then no more. 
Or jrivc— like her— c-aresses to a score ; 
Her mind with lliesc is jrone, and with it go 
The little left hehind it to bestow. 

Voluptuous Waltz ! and dare T tloHS blaspheme ? 
Thy iiard forgot thy )iraises were his theme. 
Terpsichore, forgive! — at every ivdl 
My wife nolo waltzes — and my daughters shall ; 
Ml/ son — (or stop — 'tis needless to inquire — 
These little accidents should ne'er transpire; 
Some ages hence our genealogic tree 
Will wear as green a bough for him as me) — 
Waltzing shall rear, to make our name amendSj. 
Grandsons for nie— iu heirs to all his frieuds. 



POEMS ON NAPOLEON. 



ODE TO NAPOLEON. 

" Kxpciiilo Aiiiilhalcm:— (|ii(>t llbniH In diici' Hiimtiio 
liivciilcN?" JcvKNAi., Sal. X- 

1 "''"'""..''"'"P"'';"", ^'''P"" ^^'i" "'•luumlcdtrcil l.ytlif Sciinlc, l.v llic flMlliiiis, mid 
In the I n.viMcl.ils.,1 (),itd; IMh iin.nil vlrdi.'s, mid nillltm-v (iilciitH, wnr l,,ii,llv 
(■idcl.nil.'d i mid lliosf vvlm dcriv..,! miy pi-lvjitc :,ciictH li-niii IiIh Kdvcnimciil mn 

Mdiinc.d Ir, pn.phcdc Ktniiiis tlic rcKtMi-ntl.iii nf piiMIr fcllcltv I!\ Ihis 

slini.ictii Ml.dlnill,,,, h.. prolnwt-.l Ids lllr n lew v-„M. In ii v,tv „iiiiiivMn„,s 
itiite. lH!tw..(ii nil KiuiMioi- Mild an K.xil.., ill! — . ■■-(;ii,i,,,n-.s l),;-li'iu: ami Fa/l. 
vol. VI. p. Z-C. 

'Tis (Idiic hill ycslcrdiiv ii Kiilif ! 

Anil MiriiM wi'ili Kiiin-s in strive — 
And iKiw IIkiii iiil ;i iiiiiinlcss lliiiij,''; 

So iiliji;cl,~-_vct iilivc ! 
Ih tills (ho niiin of thoiisiuid thrones, 
Wild sircw'd our heiirlh wilh hostile' hones, 

And eiin he lliiis survive ? 
Since he, niiseidl'd I hi; Mornili^i' Slur, 
Nor nniii nor fiend liiitii (iillcii ho fur. 

Ill-niiiided niiiii ! wliy seniirf,'o thy kind 

Who how'd so jow'thf! knee? 
By ^ii/iii^'- on Ihyself erown hliiid, 

Tiioii liiiii^hrst IJK! rest, to see. 
With iiii;;hl nn(|iieslion'(l— power to save,— 
I'liine only ;:irt hiifli heen llie ;,n':ive 

'l"o liiose Hint \vorslii|i|i'(l lliee; 
Nor till thy I'lill could niorliils j^ness 
Ainhilioii 's less liiiui liUlencss! 

TliMiiks for tJiiil lesson— it will IcmcIi 

'J'o !ifter-wiirri()rs more 
Thiin hi^h I'liilosophy <'iin preaeli, 

^ And viiinly preiicli'd hefore. 
Thill spell upon the niiiids of men 
llre.'iks never lo iiiiile ii^ain, 

'I'hiil led Ihcin to iidore 
Tliose l'ii;r,„| (hin;,^s of snhre swiiy, 
Witii fronts of hniss, and feet of elay. 

Tlie triiiniph, (inil tjic vdiiity. 
The niiitnro of the slrifo— * 

• "('prtntnlids >/fn„/m ••— tlio pxprr-HHlon of Atlllii In his linrniijriio to his iirmy 
previous to tlip l)nttl(! (i( ( liitlons, bIvom III (.'iisslodonis. 

4;;9 



■%{) rOEMS Oy NAPOLEON. 

The cartluiiiake voice of Victory, 

To thee the i)re!ith of life; 
The sword, the sceptre, and that sway 
Wliieh mail seeiu'd made hut to olicy, 

\\'herewith renown was rife — 
All (|ue!]'d!— Dark Spirit! what must be 
The madness of thy memory! 

The Desolator desolate ! 

The \''ietor overthrown ! 
The Arbiter of others' fate 

A .Supi>liant for his own! 
Is it some yet imperial hope 
That with "such chaniic can calmly cope ? 

Or dread of death alone? 
To die a prince — or live a slave — 
Thy choice is most ignobly brave ! 

He who of old would rend the oak, 
Dreaiii'd not of tlie rcljounil; 

Ciiaiii'd by the trunk he vainly broke- 
Alone — liow lookM he round ? 

Thou, in tlie sternness of thy strength, 

An equal deed hast tlone at length, 
And darker fate hast found i-r. 

He fell the forest prowlers' jn-ey; 

But tliou must eat thy heart away ! 

The Roman, when his burning heart 

Was slaked with blood of Rome, 
Threw down the dagger — dared departj 

In savage grandeur, home — • 
He dared ilcpart in utter scorn 
Of men tiiat such a yoke had borne, 

Yet left him such a doom ! 
His only glory was that hour 
Of self-upheld abandon'd power. 

The Spaniard, when the lust of sway 

Had lost its quickening spell, 
Cast crowns for rosaries away, 

An empire for a cell ; 
A strict accountant of his beads, 
A subtle disputant on creeds, 

His dotage trifled well : 
Yet better had he neither known 
A bigot's shrine, nor despot's throne. 

But thou— from thy reluctant hand 

Tlie tliunderbolt is wrung — 
Too late thou leav'st the high command 

To which tliy weakness clung; 
All Evil Spirit as thou art, 
It is enough to grieve the heart 

To see thine own unstrung; 
To think that (4od's fair world hath been 
The footstool of a thing so mean ! 



POEMS ON NAPOLEON. 4gj 

Ami Earth hath spilt hei- ijlood for him, 

W ho tlius can hoard his own ! 
And Mouarclis how'd the trciiihlin"- limh 

And thank'd iiini for a throne ' 
Fan- Freedom ! may we hold tiiee dear, 
W hen thus tliy mi-hticst foes their fear 

in humhlest j<-uise have shown. 
Oh ! ne'er may tyrant leave hehind 
A brighter name to lure mankind ! 
Thine evil deeds are writ in jjore, 

Nor Avritten thus in vain— 
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more. 

Or deepen every stain: 
If thou hadst died as honor dies, 
Some new Xapoleon mioht arise 

To shame the world aj^-ain— 
But who would soar the solar hei"-ht. 
xo set in sueii a starless night ? " 
Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust 

Is vile as vulgar clay; 
Thy scales, Mortality ! are just 

lo all that jiass away : 
But yet methought the livino- .n-eat 
Some higher sparks should anfmate, 

lo dazzle an<l disinaj'; 
Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirtb 
Ut these, the Conquerors of the earth. 

^^1 ^^^<^'.,P'"P"^1 Austria's mournful flower, 

I hy still imi)cnal bride; 
How bears her breast the torturing hour ? 

Still clings she to thy side i 
Must she, too, bend,-must she, too, share, 
Ihy late repentance, long despair. 

Thou throneless Homicide ? 
If still she loves tliee, hoard tliat gem ■ 
lis worth thy vanish'd diadem ! 
Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle 

And gaze upon the"sea; ' 
That clement may meet thj^ smile 

It ne'ci w;is ruled bv tliee ! 
Or trace with thine all idle liand, 
III loitering mood upon the saud. 

That Earth is now as free ! 
That Corinth's pedagogue hath now 
Transferr'd his by-word to thy brow. 
Thou Timour! in his captive's cao-e 
«^F^^' thoughts will there be thine, 
While brooding in thy prison'd rage ? 

But one—" The world was mine'! " 
Unless, like he of Buoylon, 
All sense is with thv sceptre gone, 

Life will not long confine 
That spirit pour'd so widely forth— 
So long obey 'd— so little worth ! 



■102 7'f)/;i/s ay Kipor.nox. 

Or, like tlic tlii< I' nf lire iVoin licMvcit, 

Will lliDU w iihstiiiul ihf sliocU ? 
And sliiirc willi him, tin" iinrorfiivcii, 

llis \ iilliu'i' iiiid Ills rock ? 
I'liriHlooiiiM In- (Joil 1>\ mini iicimiinI, 
Ami lliMl h\-<[ m-l, llidiiuii nol tliy worst, 

Tlic \ I'l'v I'^iiMul's iii'cli mock ; 
lie, ill llis full [U'cscrvcil his |iri(lc, 
Aiul. il a morliil, hiul as proudly died. 



ODi; FIJDM ■niK IMJKXCll. 
I. 

WlC do nol curse llici-, W'alciioo! 

'riiouuh iM-ci'dom's blood Ihv plidu hcdi'W : 

'I'licrc "iwiis shed, hul is \\o{ suidv - 

Ivisiu;;- iVom each '^oyy li'unk, 

Kike llie \viilcr-s|)oul iViuu ocean, 

Willi a stroiiu' and ;;ro\vinu' motion — 

ll soars, and minsiles in llio uir, 

Willi thai of lost Lahedov.re — 

Willi that of him whose lionored ^i'ravo 

( lUilaiiis the •' liravesi of the hrmc" 

A crimson cloud il spreads and ;;lows, 

Kill shall reliirn to wlu'iiee il rose: 

When 'tis full 'twill hurst asnndei" — 

Never vet was heard such lluinder, 

As iIh'u shall shaki' llie world with woniK-r— 

Never yel was si'cti such lii;litniuL;' 

As o'er heaxcii shall then he hriulil'iiiiii;' ! 

Like the Wormwood Star foretold 

l\\ the sainted Seer of old, 

sfiowcrinji' down a lierv Hood, 

Turnin": rivers into hlooil.* 



'The cliiet has fallen! hnt not hy you, 

\'aniiiiisliers of Waterloo 1 

When the soldier-citizen 

Sway'd not o'er his fellow-men — 

Save ill deeds that led tlieni on 

Where (ilor\- smiled on I'recdom's son — 

Who. of aU'the despots handed, 

\\ illi ihal voulliful chief competed? 

Who eouKi hoasi o'er l'"raiice dcfcateil. 
Till lone TyrauiiN commanded ? 

» Sop Kov. vIII. 7, ,Vi'.: " Tlio tirsi iiam'l sniiiuU-d. iiiid tlu'Vi' tollnwoii liall am 
lliv iiiiiiKlcd witli liUm.l," A'c. Vi'i', S: "Ami tlu- m'coiuI am;>'l ,s.>imuI<-iI, ami us , 
woiv 11 Kl'cal molililillii liiiiiilii« Willi lire WHS eiist Into tin' sen; aiui tlu' lliiiv 
pni't of till' sou liiH-iiliio I)1oimI." .Vc, \fi'. Id: "Ami llii> thii'.l aiim'l sniiiiilril, mil 
tluao loll a Kiviil star Ih'iii Ih'iimii. Ininilm; as It woro a liiniii, ami it tell iipiii 
tlio llili-d pmi ol" Ilio rivi'i's, aial mioii ilio i',.iiiiliiliis nl' walcrs." Via'. It : " \ii. 
tin- imiuo el" tlio slur Is I'lillnl U ,'fiiin-o,iJ ; ami Ilio tlilnl |>iirt of Ilio v\ alri: 
lii'iMUiio icormiiiHui ; ami iiiaiiv nun iliiilol' tlic waters, lnoaiiso tliov wiao iinitlt 
lillU'l-." 



J'OICMS OiV NAI'OtJlON. 4(53 

Till, {Toadcd by aiiihil ion's stinjr, 
1'iio Il<!r(( Slink into llic Kiiif^ ? 
Tiien lu; foil ; — .so pc^i'isli nil, 
Who would men by nnin cntliriill ! 



And llioM, loo, of the siiow-wliid' |i1iiimi!! 

Wliost; rciilin rcl'iiscd tlic(! oven a toinl); 

Hctlcr lia<lst, (lion still been leading;- 

Franco o'er lios(,s of hirelings bjecilinjr, 

1'lian sold tbysrir to ilcalli and shame 

I''oi' a iiKs'iidy royal name; 

iSiieh as be of N'a|)li's wears, 

Who thy blood-boii-bl, title bears, 

Little <lidst. thou (Iimmii, when dashing 
On t-liy war-horse through the ranks, 
Ijil<(! a, Hli-eam whieli bursts its i)aiiks, 

\Vliil(! bt^lmels elcj'l, and s:d)r(!S elasliinj^', 

ShoM<' and shiver'd I'a^l aroniKl tlu.'e — 

Of thi^ I'ali! at last vvliieb lomid thee! 

Was that, haiiiihly pin me laid low 

Hy a slave's disbonc^sl lilow ? 

Once — IIS l.he moon swiiys o'er the tide, 

It roll'd in air, the warrior's tiliidc; 

'J"hroii;^h the smoke-erealed iii^ht 

Of tbc black and siilphnroiis finht, 

The soldier I'aJscd his scckin;^' ey(! 

'J'o Catch that crest's ascendaney — 

Ami as it onward roUiiij,'' rose. 

So moved his heart ii|)on our f'ocs. 

There, where death's iii'ief pan;; was quickest. 

And the bailie's wreck lay thickest, 

(Strew'd bciie;itb the advaijciii;^' banner 
i)\' the ea;;le's biirnin;^' crest — 

(There wilh 1hiin(i(!r-<iloiids to fan her, 
Vho (;oiild then Ikm' winj,' arrest — 
Victory heainiiijj' from hvv breast ?) 
Whih; th(! broken line MxhiV'Xnv^ 

J'"(;ll, or lied aloii^' the plain; 
There; he sure was Mural char^^inj;! 
There he ne'er shall charge aj^ain! 



O'er (glories froru! the inva<l(M's mai'ch, 

Weep Triumph o'ei' each levell'cl areh — 

]{ut let l"r(;ed()m rejoice. 

With her IkmhI in her voice; 

IJiit hi;r hand on her sword, 

])oubly shall she be ailored ; 

l'"raiice luilli lwic(! too well been taiijfht 

The "moral lesson" dearly bought/— 

Her safety sits not on a throne, 

With Capet or Napoleon ! 

But in c(|ual rights and laws. 

Hearts anil hands in one great cause — 



464 POEMS ON XAPOLEO^. 

Frcetlom, such as God hath j^ivcn 

Unto nil litMioatli Ili.s lieavcn, 

^\'illl llii-ir liicatli, ami IVuiu their birth, 

'J'lioii;;li (iiiilt would swei'p it from the earth; 

With a fu'nv and lavish hand 

Soattoriiiji- nations' wcallh like sand; 

Pourinj;' nations' l)lood like water, 

lu imperial seas of slaughter ! 



But the lieart and the mind, 
And the X'oice of mankind, 
Shall arise in eoniniunion — 
Anil who shall resist that jjroud union? 
The time is past when sworils subdued — 
Man may die — the soul's renew'd: 
Even ill this low world of earc 
l<^-eedoni ne'i'r shall want an heir; 
Millions hrc;illie but to inlK'ril 
Her for i'\er lionndinL;' si)irit — 
AVlieu ouee more her hosts assemble, 
Tyrants shall l)elieve and tremble — 
Smile they at this idle threat ? 
Crimson tears will follow yet. -~~' 



TO NAl'OLEON. 

FROM Til 13 FKENCII. 

Must thou no, my glorious Chief,* 

Sever'tl from thy faithful few ? 
Who ean fell thy warriors' ^;i'ief, 

Maddenini;- o'l'r that louf^- adieu ? 
Woman's love, and friendship's zeal, 

Dear as Ixith have i>een to me — 
What are tiiev to :dl 1 feel. 

With a soldier's faith for thee ? 

Idol of the soldier's soul ! 

First in ii,u'ht, but inijjhticst nowi 
Many eonld a world eontrol : 

Tllce alone no doom t-an bow. 
By thy side for years 1 dared 

Death; ami envied those who foil, 
When their dyinu' shout was heard. 

Blessing him they served so well.f 

Would that T were cold with those. 

Since this hour I live to see ; 
When the doubts of coward foes ' 

Scarce dare trust a man with thee. 

» "All wopt, but pnrtioiilnily Siiviiry, ami n Polish olfloor, who had been ex- 
alted IVoiu tlie ranks by niiomiimrte. ' lie cUuif; to his master's knees; wrote a 
letter to Lord Keith, eiureatia.Lr iieniilssion lo aceompany liiiu, ovou in the most 
menial eapaeitv, whicli eould not be admitted." 

t "At Waterloo, one man was seen, wliose lett arm was shattered by acannoii- 
ball, to wrench it otY witli tlie otiier, and tlirowinjr it up in tlie air, exelaimed to 
his comrades, ' S'^lve I'Empereur, jusqira la mort!' Tliere were many o iior 
Instances of" the like. This, however, jou may depend on as true."— yVt'i'a/e 
Letter from Brussels. 



rOEMS OiV NAPOLEON. 455 

Drcadintr each should set thee free ! 

Oh! ahhou^li in diinf^con.s pent, 
All then- ehains were liyht to ine, 

Ga/Ang on thy soul unbent. 

Would the syeophants of him 

Nr)\v so deaf to duty's prayer. 
Were his horrow'd ^ilorics dim, 

In iiis native darkness share ? 
Were that world this hour his own, 

All tliou eahidy dost i'esi;;i), 
Could he purchase with thai throne 

Hearts lii<e those whicli still arc thine ? 

My chief, my king-, my friend, adieu! 

Never did I droop before; 
Never to my sovercig'n sue, 

As his foes I now implore : 
All I ask is to divide 

Every pei-il he must brave; 
SharinfT by the hero's side 

His fall, his exile, and his frrave. 



NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 

Farewell to the Land, where the (jloom of my fflory 

Arose and o'ersh-.ulow'd the earth with her name — 
She abandons me now— but the pane of lier storv, 

The ijrij-htest or l)lackest, is fill'd with my fanie. 
I have warr'd with a world which van(iinsii\l me only 

When the meteor of con(iuest allurcMl me too far; 
I have eopcd with the nations which dread me thus lonely, 

The last single Captive to millions in war. 

Farewell to thee, Fi-anee ! when thy diadem crown'd me, 

I made thee the <,'-em and the wonder of eai-th,— 
But thy wea::ness decrees I sliould leave as I founil thee, 

Dccay'd in thy plory, and sunk in thv worth. 
Oh ! for the •veteran hearts thaf> were wasteil 

In strife with tlie storm, when their i)attles were won 

Then the Iv.v^h', wdiose fzaze in that moment was l)lasted, 

Hail still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun ! 

Farewell to thee, France !— but when Liberty rallies 

Once more in thy re{,nons, remember me then— 
The violet still jrrows in the dcjirh of liiv valleys; 

Though wilher'd, thy tears will unfold it again — 
Yet, yet I may battle the hosts that surround us, 

And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice — 
There are links wiiich must break in the chain that has 
bound us. 

Then turn thcc and call on the Chief of thy choice ! 
30 



4,6G POEMS O.V NAPOLEON. 

ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGIOX OF HONOR. 

FHOM THE FUENCn. 

Btau of the brave! — whose beam hath shed 

fcjiich \x\ovy o'er the quiek ami tlead — 

Thou radiant and adored deceit! 

Wiiieh millions rnsli'd in arms to {J^rcct, — 

"Wild meleoi' of immortal birth; 

Why rise in heaven to set on Eartli! 

Souls of slain heroes form'd thy raj's; 
Eternity llash'd throii;ih thy blaze; 
The music of thy martial spiure 
Was fame on iiij;h and honor here : 
And thy li^lit broke on human eyes, 
Like a volcano of the skies. 

Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood, 
And swept down empires witii its Hood; 
Earth roek'd beneath thee to her base, 
As thou didst lij;litt'n through all space; 
And the slioi-n Sun !4re\v dim in air, 
And set while thou wert dwelling there. 

Before thee rose, and with thee gTew, 

A rainbow of the loveliest hue 

Of three bright colors, each ilivine,* 

And lit for that ceh'slial sign; 

For Freedom's hand had blended them, 

Like tints in an innnortal gem. 

One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes; 
One, the blue deptli of Seraph's eyes : 
One, the ]inre Spirit's veil of white 
Hud robed in radiance of its light: 
The three so mingled did beseem 
The texture of a heavenly dream. 

Star of the brave ! thy ray is pale, 
And darkness nnist again prevail! 
But, O thou Rainbow of the free! 
Our tears and blood must How for thee. 
When tiiy briglit promise fades away, 
Our life is but a load of clay. 

And Freedom hallows with her tread 
The silent cities of the deail ; 
For beaut ifid in death are they 
Wlio proudly fnll in her array ; 
And soon, O (Joddess I may we l)e 
For evermore with them or thee! 

• 'I'he tricolor. 



POEMS TO TIIYRZA. 



TO TIIYRZA. 

Without a stmic to nuuk the spot, 

Ami say, what Triilli iiiij;lit well liavc said, 

By all, savf oiio, lu'rcliaiici' lorj^ot, 
All! wliorclbre art thou lowly laid ? 

By many a shore and many a sea 

Divided, yet i)eloved in vain ! 
The past, the future tied to thee, 

To hid us meet — no — ne'er again ! 

Could this have been — a word, a look, 
That softly said, " We p;irt in peace," 

Had tau;;'lit my bosom how to l)rook. 
With fainter sij^hs, thy soul's release. 

And didst thou not, since Death for thee 
Prepared a li^ht and panyless dart, 

Once lonj,^ for him thou ne'er slialt sec, 
Who held, and holds thee in his heart ? 

Oh! who like him h;i,d walch'd thee here? 

Or sadly in:irl\'il Ihy j;l;i/in>;' eye. 
In that ilrcad hour ere death a|)pear. 

When silent sorrow fears to sigh. 

Till all was past ! But when no more 
'Twas thine to reek of human woe, 

Affection's heart-drops, gushinfj o'er, 
Had How'd as fast — as now they tlow. 

Shall they not flow, when many a day 
In these, to me, deserted towers, 

Ere call'd i)ut lor a lime away, 
Atfeetion'.s mingling tears were ours ? 

Ours too the glance none sa^v beside ; 

The smile none else might unilerstand; 
The whisper'd thought of hearts allied, 

The pressure of the thrilling hand ; 

The kiss, so guiltless and refined. 

That Love each warmer wish forl)orc ; 

Those eyes proel;iim'<l so jmre a minil, 
Even passion bUuhVl to pleail for more. 

407 



468 /•()/; i/N TO ruYU/.A. 

Tho toiio, llml timylit nu' lo n'loicc, 
W'luMi imnif, unliki- lluc, lo npiiu"; 

Till' soim'. ci'lfsiinl I'roiii lliy vuicc, 
Hill s\viH>l to 1110 fi'oiii iioiii" Iml tliiiio; 

Tin" pli'iluc \vi> won- I \V(>iii' it still, 

Hill wluTi- is tliiiio ? All ! wlicro iirl lliou f 

Dt'l liiivo 1 lionio llio wi-iylil of ill. 
Hilt lu'ViT luMit lii'iu-atli till now ! 

WfU liiisl Ihou Icit ill life's JHsi hlo.Mii 
The Clip ot' woe for nn- to ilr:iiii. 

If rest Miotic he in lli<- toiiili, 

1 woiiUI not wisli llu'c luTc ;iL;;iiu; 

lint if ill wiM'lils more lile-~l lli;in this 
'I'liy virtues ^.eek ;i tiller >|i|iere, 

Imimrt some porlioii ol'lliv liliss, 
To wciiii me from mine iiii^iiisli Iutc. 

Tcadi nic— too curly tiiuylit liv tliee! 

To heiir, for;i'iviii.u' miil for.uivcii ; 
On cjirtli tliy love vviis siieli to nie; 

It I'liiii would t'oriu my liopo in lieMxfii! 
0,Y()/.,7- II, ISIl. 



AWAY, AW AY, YK XOTKS OK WOE, 

.V\V.\Y. iiw .ly, ye notes of woe ! 

Hi< silciil, llioii onee sootliinu' strslin, 
Or 1 iiiilsl llee iVoiii lienee for, oh I 

1 (l:irc not Inisl iIiom- soiiiuls iiji'iviu. 
To me tlie\ spi'iiU of l>ri';lilcr iliivs — 

Hill liill'ilie ehonls, for now, iiliis! 
I niiisi not think, I iiiiiy not uiizc. 

Oil what 1 mil on what 1 was. 

The voice that made those sou mis more swool 

Is liushM, aiiil all their charms arc llcil ; 
Ami now tiieir sol't(>st notes repeat 

A tliii^c, an antheni o'er the ilcail ! 
Yes, Tliyr/.a! yes, they hreiithc of tlicc, 

Hclovt'd thisi ! since dust thou art ; 
And all that once was harmony 

Is worse than disconl to m\ heart. 

'Tis silent all ! hut on my i-ar 

The wcll-reiiieml<er'd echoes thrill, 
\ hear a voice I would not hi'ar, 

A voice that now iiii^;ht well he still. 
\'t>( ol'l my doiihiiiiLj soul 'twill shake; 

l''.vcn slumher owns its ^imtK' tone. 
Till eonscioiisiiess will vainly waki> 

To listen, thoiiuh the dream W llown. 

Swci>t 'I'liyr/.a! wakinjr it's in sleep. 
Thou art hut now a lovely dream ; 

A star thai Irenihled o'er the dceo. 
Then tuni'd from earth its teiulcr heani. 



roEMs ■/■(> rinif/.A. 4gQ 

Tint, li(! wild llinHi;,^!) lil'ti'M (li'carv wiiv 

lyiiiMl |iiihH, wlicii liciivcii in vcll'il ill wnitli, 
Will Idii;^ laiiii'iil iIk! viiiiiHiril riiy 
Tlial M<'iil,U r'd ^liuluoHM o'lsr Ills imlli 
/),:n;,i/>lirt\, |H||. 



ONH K'nUJ(;(JLK MOKi;, AND I AM I'IMIK, 

(JNH Hlnitffi-ld more, iiii>l I iiijj live 

l''r()iM |iiii,;fH (iiiil rciiil my Imii.i1 in twain; 
Our lasl |l)ll^;' Hi;^li to lovr ami llici', 

'I'licii back (o liiiMy lilr aj.',ii,iii. 
Il Hiiiisi iric well III iiiiii;;|c now 

Willi lliiii^M lliiii iicvitr pIcaHcij lirloro, 
'I"Iioiim|i cvitv joy IH IliMJ liclow, 

Willi!, riiliiri' I'licl' can IuikIi nic inor.; i> 

'I'lii'ii liiiii)^- inc will!', llii' liani|ni'l liriii;^! 

Man was nol roiiiiM In live alone : 
I'll lie lliiil li^^lil, iinnii'aiiiii;? lliin;.'', 

'I'lial Minili's Willi all, anil wcipi willi iioiio. 
It was mil lliii < in il.iys iiiorr dtiir, 

Il never would have lieeli, lull llioii 
llinl lied, iiiid left, inn loiady liere; 

'I'lion'rl iiotliiii;^' all lire iioUiiu),'' now. 

Ill viiiii in^v lyre would lij^lilly linwillic! 

'I'Ik! Ninile tlial sorrow Cain' would wear 
JJllt inoeks the woe liiaf. links lienealll, 

Ijike roses o'er a se|iiilelire. 
I'hon^jh ^ay i'oiii|iaiiioiiH o'er llu! howl 

I)is|ie| a wliilir Ilii! Hi'iisi! ol" ill ; 
'J'iioii;.'ii pleasiiri! (IreM the inaddeiillii^ Houl, 

The luiiiit the hi'arl m loniHy NlilF! 

On IlKiny a lone and lovely iii^'lil, 

it Hoollied lo (..a/.e upon' Hie sky ; 
For then I deeni'd the heavenly liejit, 

Khoiie sweetly on thy |Miisivi' eye; 
And ol't, 1 thoiij^hi. III ( "ynlhia's noon, 

When MiiiliiiM- o'er th'e /Kkimui wiiv<!. 
" Now Thyr/.a uny.t-H on that, moon — '' 

AliiH, it ghaiin'il u|ion her f^riivo ! 

Wlion Hfn;l,eli'i| on fevi'l'V slee|iless lied, 

And Miekiiess shrniik my Ihroliliiii;; vcillH, 
♦* "I'is eoinlorl still," I laiiilly said, 

" 'riiiil, 'I'liyr/.a eaiinol, know my paiiiH : " 
JAki' IVeedoin lo the I iiiie.-worii Mfav(!, 

A boon 'tis idle then to ^rive, 
llflctiilin;; Nat lire vainly piv(! 

My liCi', wIkmi 'riiyr/iicfiiMed l.o livol 

M V Thyrza's pU-Ain- in helter <liiys. 
When love iiiul life alike were" new ! 

Ilow diircrent now tlioii ineet'st my iiiiy.u] 
How linxe.d hy time with sorrow's lino I 



4 70 POEMS TO TIIYRZA. 

The heart that fjave itself witli thee 
Is silent — all, were mine as still! 

Thoujjfh cold as e'en tlio dead can be, 
It feels, it sickens witli the chill. 

Thou hitler )>k'(li,'e ! thou mournful token! 

TiioU',di ]Kiinl'iil, wolcoiiii' to my hreast! 
Still, still preserve that love unbroken. 

Or break the heart to which tbou'rt prest! 
Time tempers love, but not removes, 

J\loro hallowM wheu its hoiie is lied: 
Ob! what arc Ibousaiul liviun' loves 

To that which cannot (piit the dead ? 



EUTHANASIA. 

When Time, or soon or late, shall bring 
The dreamless slec]) that lulls the dead, 

Oblivion! nuiy thy laus^nid winn' 
Wave yently o'er ni}- dying-bed ! 

No band ot friends or heirs be there, 
To weep or wish the coming' blow : 

No maiden, with dishevcll'd hair^ 

To led, or feign, decorous woe. 

But silent let uw siuk to earth, 
\\'\\\\ no otlicious mourucrs near; 

1 would not uiur one hour of mirth, 
Nor startle friendship with a tear. 

Yet Love, if Love in such an hour 
Could nobly check its useless sighs, 

Might then exert its latest power 
In liei who lives and him who dies. 

'Twere sweet, my Psyche ! to the last 
Thy iV-atures still serene to see ; 

Forgetful of its struggles past. 

E'en I'aiu itself should smile on thee. 

But vain the wish — for Beauty still 

Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; 

And woman's tears, proiluced at will, 
Deceive in life, unman in death. 

Then lonely be my latest hour, 
Without regret, without a groan; 

For thousands Death bath ceased to lower, 
And pain been transient or unknown. 

"Ay, but to die, and go," alas ! 

Where all have gone, and all must go, 
To l)e the nolhii\g that I was 

Ere born to life and living woe. 

Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen. 
Count o'er thy days from anguish free, 

And know, whatever tbou hast been, 
"Tis something better not to be. 



POEMS TO TlIYItZA. 472 

AND TllOir AliT DKAl), AS YOUNCJ A,S FAIR. 
"lieu, (juaiitci iiiliiiiK est cum rollqiils vorsiid fiiiatii till mumliilssel" 
And tlioii iirl; dead, as vouiif^ and fair 

As iiiiiilil of mortal liirtli; 
Aiid form so sol'l, and clianiis so I'aro, 

To(j soon rultirn'd to lOaiMli ! 
Thouffli failh i-occivcil tlicni in lici- Imd, 
And o'or llic spot, Ur. ci-owil may tread 

^ In carclussness or mirlli, 
There is an eye wliicli eoidd not brook 
A moment on tliat },n'avc; to looii. 

I will not asl< where thou licst low, 

Nor t;:ize upon tiie spot; 
There flowers or weeds at will may i:row. 

Sol behold them not: ' 

It is enou;;h for ine to [trove 
That what 1 IovchI, and Ion-;- must love, 

Like common earth can rot; 
To ine there needs no stone to tell, 
Tis nothin;,'- that 1 loveil so well. 

Yet did I love thee; to the last 

As fei-ventlv as thou, 
Who didst not clian.-e through all the past, 

And eanst not alter now. 
The love where Death has set his seal, 
Kor ajie can chill, nor I'ival steal, 

Nor falsehood disavow ; 
And, what weri' woi-se, thou canst not SCO 
Or wroii^^, or change, or fault in mc. 

The ))ctter diiys of life were ours; 

'J'he worst can lie but mine : 
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers, 

Hliall nevei- nu)re be thine. 
The silence of that dreamless sleep 
1 envy now too much to weep; 

Nor need I to repine 
That all those charms have passM away; 
1 miyht have watch'd throu^rii lorifr decay. 

The llower in ripen'd bloom nnmateh'd 

Must fall the earliest prey; 
Thoufih by no hand untimely snatch'd, 

'J"he leaves must drop away : 
And yet it wen- a j^-reatcr jirief 
To watch it witherin;;-, leaf by leaf, 

1'han see it jdiickM to-day; 
Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
To trace the ehan;,'e to foul from fair, 

I know not if I could have borne 

'J"o see tbv beauties fade; 
The ni^iht lliat follow'd siicli a morn 

ilad worn a deeper shade ; 



472 POEMS TO TIIYRZA. 

Tliy (lay witlioiit. ii cloml hath piiss'd, 
Anil thou wcrl, lovely to tlu' last: 

ICxtiu^iiiisliM, not ilccayM; 
As stars that, shoot, aloii^' tlu- sky 
Siiiiic hri^lilcsl as they tall IVoni hij;li. 

As onco J \vi'|)t, if I roulil wcrii, 

Mv tciirs iiii^lit well he slud. 
To tliink I was not luvir to kci|t 

One vijiil o'er thy Ix'il ; 
To '^:v/.c, iiow fondly ! on thy I'acc, 
'I'd fold llu'c in a fain! finliracc, 

llpliohl thy ih-oo|iin^- head ; 
Anil show tlia.tr love, howovor vain, 
JNoi" tlion n(n" 1 can i\'v\ tv^iihi. 

Yot how nnich less it wore to train, 

'rhon;;li thon liiist. left, nio free. 
Tin- lovrlicst thin^^s that still ronuiin, 

'I'liaii lliiis i-cnicndicr llicf ! 
The all of Ihini' thai cannot die 
'I'hrouLih dark and dread ICternity 

Ixi'tiirns iiLiain to inc, 
And more thy liinii'd love ondoars 
'I'lian au;;hl, cxci'iil its 1 i \' i n^' \tniN. 
Fchniary, 1812. 



IF SOj\rETIMES IN THE HAUNTS OF MEN. 

\v sonii'tiiiu's in tlio haunts of mm 

Thini^ inia|;i' iVoni my breast may fade, 
The lonely hour |ii'esents a^ain 

The sembhuiee of thy f^entle sluule : 
And now that sad and silent hour 

Thus much of thee can still restort'. 
Ami sorrow unobserved may iiour 

The i)laint she dare not speak liel'oi'o. 

Oh, pardon that in crowds a wliile 

I waste one thought I owe to tiiee. 
And, self-condemn'd, appear to sniilo, 

I'nfaithfid to thy memory ! 
Noi" deem that mcmoi'v less dear, 

'I'hal then I seem not, to n-pine ; 
I would not fools should oxcrliear 

Oiu' si;;h thai should be wliolly thine. 

'*" not, the "goblet pass unquafl'M, 
I , JlIi IS uoi iiiao.'ii li: !:!;;;'sl> ca.i'e : 
The cup nuist iiold a deadVu'r <lnii.&.»^ 

That, brinies a Ei'tlii? for despair. 
And coidd ()i)livion set mv soul 

I'lom all her tronbU'd visions free, 
I'll dash to earth the sweetest bowl 

Tliat ilrown'il a siui;le thouulit of tlioo. 



POEMS '/•() rinir/.A. 473 

For wcii tlidii viiiiiHh'd IVdifi my tiiiiid, 
Where eoiild my vueiiiil liosoiii turn? 
Anil vvlio \V<illli| tfjell leiiiMili lieiiilid 

Tr) liiiiiiir thine iihMijilonM I'i'n < 
No, III) il JM iiiy sorrow's |iriil(! 

'I'h.it, lust, (leiir <hily to I'liKil; 
'l"hoii^;h :ill the worlil Ibr/jirt hesiili,-, 

"I'iM ineel that, I n;in(;nil)ei' Hlill. 

For well I Know lliiil, Miieh had been 

Tliy fienlle eare i'lir him, wlio now 
UnmoiiinM shiill (|Mil this morhil sir-nc, 

VVIien; none ic;4iirih'd him l)iit thou; 
And, oil ! I ieel in lliat was (fivun 

A l)leH«in>^ never ineiinl. for inc; 
Tlioii werl too like ii dream of licuvcn, 

l''or eartliiy JiOve to merit tlico. 
March 11, 1812. 



DOMliSTIC IMECES. 



FAHK '11 IKK WKl.K. 

"Alns! Ilu'v IukI Im'cii tVlcMils in yoiitli; 
Hill ^^llls|u•^lll^' liiii;;iics Ciiii iidi'snii Iriilli; 
Anil i'oiisliiiir\' llvrN In rr.'ilms iiliuvi'; 
And lllr Is IlioViiy. and yonlli Is viilii: 
And 1(1 111' wnilli with nin- wr lnvf 
Diilli wiii'k like iiiiuliu'ss in llic lirain; 

lint never ("ItliiM- fnmnl muitlicr 

To IVi'i' the liollow luMirt iVoin iialnlii}.'— 

Tlirv sidod al.M.f, tlu' M'ars nMiKilirttW, 

MUiM-lllls, which had Imm'Ii iviil asiindrr; 

A ili-i'arv M-a now llows hclwiM-n, 

lint iii'lihoi' heal, nur IVust, nor tlinndoi', 

Shall wholly do away, I woen, 

'I'lio marks ol that whli-li oiuo hatli h on." 

t 'iii.iciiUKiic's C/irislatxil 



Fauk tliiH" wi'U ! ;uul if Cor ovor 

Still I'm- ovi'f, fiMV t/i,r wfll ; 
Kvi'ii iluiiioli uiifdfoiviiio-, n(>vi'r 

'(iiiiiisi, ilu'o sluill m_v lioiirt ft'lul. 

Would tliiit liri'it>i( wen' liiii't-il hiM'ori' llioi'. 

Wluiv lliv lu'Mil so ol't liiilli lain, 
Wliilo Ilial, jilariil sloip camr o'it llu>i< 

\\ liiili tliiui lu-'iT i'!m>l know noaiii: 

W'oulil that lifi'jist, liy tluu- olmiccil ovi-r, 
l''.\or\ iiiiuosi, ilioiiL;ht coilltl show ! 

Tlu-U ll'lOU Wuulllsl Ml last ilisoOVlT 

"i'wivs iiol well 111 >|iiiru il so. 

Thotio:li llu' worlil for this coimiiumuI (hot) — 
'riioi|o-li it siiiilc u|>oii till' lilow, 

KviMi its pniisi's must olVoiul (lice, 
J'\>iiiuk'il oil iiiiotlu'i's woe : 

'riioiio'li my miiny (anils ilcfaciHl iiu", 

I'oiilil no olluM- arm lie I'oiiiul, 
Than tiio oiio wliich onco t-mltrai'otl mo. 

To iulliol II I'uroloss womul ? 

171 



DOMESTIC I'll'JllS. ,J7r, 

Yet, oil y{-\, (liyscIC (Icccivc not: 

Lovn iniiy sink hy hIow ilccay, 
IJiit l)y siidilcn wrciicli, hclicvc not 

IIciii'tM can llins W: lorn iiwfiy ; 

Slill tliinc own ils life rct.'iinclli - 

iSlill MiMsl, mine, llioiii^li hlrciliii;,', Itciif,: 

Anil llic nndyin;;- lliou^lil, wliirli |iiiinelli 
J.s — tliat vvi! no nioi'i; may niccl. 

Those iiro wotiIm (t{' deeper soi'row 

'I'liiUi tli(' wild idxive llie dciid ; 
Itotli sliidi live, hill, every morrow 

VViike IIS from a widow'd lied. 

And wlien llioM wonld'sl: solaee jriillior, 

VVlien oiireliild's (ii'sl iiceenls How, 
Will llioii leaeli lier lo way " Fallier! " 

Tlioii;;!) iiis earo mIk; iinist forego ? 

When her liltli! hands shall press tiie'C', 

When her lip lo Ihine is |)ress'(l, 
Think of him whose prayei- shall liless tiiec, 

'i'hink of him Ihy love had hless'd ! 

Khonld her lineiiitKMils resend)!e 

'I'lioie liioii nirver more m;iysl sec, 
I'Ikmi Ihy liearl, will softly licnil)l(; 

With a pnlso yet true to me. 

All my faults pciri^hance thon knowest, 

All mv madness none can know; 
Ail my hopes, wheie'ei- Ihon H'oest, 

WithiM', yet wilii llicc they '^u. 

Every reeliii},'' hath heen shaken; 

I'rido, which not a, woi'ld eonld how, 
Bows to lIuH! — hy tliet! forsaken, 

Evei» Miy Hoid I'orsakes ine now : 

IJiit 'tis ilotii! — all words are idU^ — 

Words from mo an; vainer slill; 
IJut the thoiifi'hts we cannot hridh; 

F(;rco th(;ir way without the will. 

Fiiri! thec! well ! — thns disunited, 

ToiMi from evi'ry nearer lie, 
Sear'd in heiirt, and lone, ami hli^^iitcjd, 

More than this I scarce <-aii die. 
March \1,\UV>. 

A .sKi'/rcii. 

" lIoMPHt — llOIlf'Ht lllK')I 

II' that tlliiu Itd'Ht » (Ji!Vll, I iMiiMot kill IIh'c. 

SlIAKSI'KAKU:. 

HoitN in Iho (.'arriit, in the kitchen lii'cd, 
Promoted thence to deck her mistic-^s' liead ; 
Ne\t for some i^raeioiis service nncxiircss'd. 
And from its wa;,'es only to he ;^uess'd— 



47G DOMESTIC PIECES. 

Riiisod from the toilette to tlie tal)lc>, — where 

Her woiidi'iiii^' l)i'tti'i's wait behind her ehuir. 

\\'itli ('\<' iiiimuM'd, iiiid forehead luiahasli il, 

Slie (hne< from oil the (ilate she hitely wash'u. 

(>iiiek Willi tin' liiK', and ready willi the lie — 

Uhe j;eni:d eoiitidanle, ami j;'eiieral spy — 

^\'h() eoiild, ye ;;(>ds! her next employment guess— 

All only infant's earliest ;;'overiiess ! 

She taii;;hl the child to reatl, and taii'j'ht so well, 

'J'hat siie herself, by teaehiu^', learn'd to spell. 

An adept, ne\t in penmanship she f^rows. 

As mam- a- nameless slaiuU'r deftly shows; 

^\■hat she had made the pupil of iier art, 

N(me knew — but that higli Soul secured the heart. 

And panted for the truth it eould not hear, 

Willi louu'iu;;' breast, and nndehided ear. 

l'\iird was perversion by tliat youthful mind, 

^\■hicll I'laltcry fooled iiot- -Miiseness could not bliiul, 

])eceit int'i'cl not — near t'ontajiion soil — ■ 

liiduliienee weaki'ii — nor I^xample sjioil — 

Mor master'd Science tempt her to look down 

On luimbler talents witli a pityinj,' iVown — 

Nor (ieuiiis swell— nor Heauty render vain — 

Nor Kiivy rullle to retaliate pain — ^_ 

Nor I'orlmie chani^t'- -I'ride raise — nor Passion how, 

Nor Virtue teach austi'rity — till iu)W. 

Sereiu'ly purest of lu'r sex that live, 

]>ut wantiii;;' one sweet weakness — to forji'lvo ; 

Too shoek'd at faults her soul can never know, 

She deems that all could be like her below : 

Foe to all vice, vet hardly Virtue's friend, 

For N'irluc jianlous those she woiikl amend. 

Ihit to tlu> theme : — now laid aside too long. 
The balel'iil Uiirdt'ii of this honest song — 
Though all her former functions are no more. 
She rules tlu' circle which she served before. 
If mothers — luuie know why — before hcripiake; 
If danghti'rs dread lu'r for the mothers' sake; 
If early iiabits — those false links which bind 
At times the loftiest to the meanest mind — 
Have given lu'r power too deeply to instil 
1'he angry essence of her deadly will; 
If like a snake she steal within your walls, 
'I'ill the black slime bi'tray her as she crawls; 
Jf like a viper to llic heart she wiiul. 
And leavi^ the venom there sin.' did not tind; 
What marvel that this hag of hatred works 
Eternal evil lati'iit as she lurks. 
To make a I'audciuonimu where she dwells, 
And reign, the llccale of domestic lu'lls ? 
SkiU'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints 
With airthe kind mcndacitv of hints, 
^\'llile mingling truth with lalsehood —sneers with smilos- 
,V lhrea<l of candor with a weh of wiles; 
A plain blunt show of brietly-spoken seeming, 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 477 

To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd scheming: 

A lip of lies — a face foriii'd to conceal ; 

And, without rcelinj.'-, mock at all who feci; 

With a vile mask the (Gorgon would disown; 

A eiieek of ))ai'chment — and an eye of stone. 

Mark, how the channels of her yellow blood 

Ooze to her skin, and stagnate there to mud, 

Cased like the centipede in saffron mail, 

Or darker greenness of the scorpion's scale — 

(For drawn from reiJtiles only may we trace 

Congenial colors in that soul or face) — 

Look on her features ! and behold her mind 

As in a mirror of itself delincd ; 

Look on the jiicturc ! deem it not o'erchargcd — 

There is no ti-ait which might not he eidarged : 

Yet true to " Nature's journeymen," wlio made 

This monster when their mistress left oti' trade — 

This female tlog-star of her little sky. 

Where all beneath her inllucnce droop or die. 

Oh ! wretch without a tear — v^'ithout a thought, 
Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought — 
The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou 
Shall feel far more than thou inllictest now; 
Feel for thy vile self-loving self in vain, 
And tiM'n thee howling in uniiitied pain. 
Maj- the strong curse (jf erush'd alfections light 
Back on thy bosom with reflected blight! 
And make thee in thy leprosy of mind 
As loathsome to thyself as to mankind! 
Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, 
Black — as thy will for others would create: 
Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, 
And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. 
Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed, — 
The widow d couch of fire;, that thou hast spread ! 
Then, when thou fain wouldst weary Heaven with prayer, 
Ijook on thine earthly victims — and despair! 
Down to the dust ! — and, as thou rott'st away, 
Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay. 
But for the love I bore, and still must bear, 
To her thy malice from all ties would tear — 
Thy name — thy human name — to every eye 
The climax of all scorn should hang on high, 
Exalted o'er thy less abhorr'd compeers — 
And festering in the infani}' of years. 
March 29, 1816. 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 

When all around grew drear and dark, 
And reason half withheld her ray — 

And hope but shed a dying spark 
Which more misled my lonely way; 



4 78 DOMESTIC PIECES. 

In that deep iniilnis'ht of the miml, 
And that internal stril'o of heart, 

When (h'eadinj,'' to he deem'd too kind, 
The weak despair — the eokl ilepart ; 

Wiien fortune ehanjred — and love lied far, 
And hatred's shafts Hew thiek and fast, 

Thou wert the solitary star 

AVhieh rose, and set not to the last. 

Oh ! hlest he thine iinhroken liy;ht ! 

That wateh'd nie as a seraph's eye, 
An<l stood between nie and the night, 

For ever shining swcet-ly nigh. 

And when the eloud upon us eame. 

Which strove to blacken o'er thy ray — 

Then purer spreail its gentle tlaine. 
And dash'd the tlarkuess all away. 

Still may thy spirit dwell on mine. 
And teaeh it what to brave or brook — 

There 's more in one soft word of thine 
Than in the world's defied rebuke. 

Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely^tree. 
That still nnbroke, though gently bent, 

Still waves with fond fidelity 
Its boughs above a nuinunient. 

The winds might rend — the skies might pour. 
Hut there thou wert — and still wouldst be 

Devoted in the stormiest hour 
To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. 

But thou and thine shall know no blight, 
Whatever fate on me may fall; 

For Heaven in sunshine will recpiite 
The kiiul — and thee the most of all. 

Then let the ties of baffled love 

Be broken — thine will never break : 

Thv heart can feel — but will not move; 
'X'hy soul, though soft, will never shake. 

And these, when all was lost beside, 

A\'ere found, and still are lix'd in thee; — 

And bearing still a breast so tried. 
Earth is no desert — e'en to me. 



STANZAS TO AUGUSTA. 

Though the day of my destiny 's over, 

And the star of my "fate hath declined, 
Thy soft heart refused to discover 

'i'lie faults which so many could find; 
Though thy sofd with my grief was acquainted. 

It shrunk not to share it with me. 
And the love which niv spirit hath painted 

It never hath found "but in thee. 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 479 

Then when nature around me is smiling, 

The hist smile which answers to mine, 
1 do not hclievo it h(!j;uiling, 

liecausi' it rnninds me ol' thine; 
And when winds are at war with the oecan, 

As the breasts I believed in with me, 
If their billows exeile an emotion. 

It is that they bear me from thee. 

Thon;;h the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, 

And its frauinents are siinl'; in the wave, 
Thoii^li I lee! tiiat my soul is delivcr'd 

To pain — it shall not be its slave. 
There is many a jianji' to purstie me : 

They may erush, hut they shall not contemn— 
Thev may torture, l)ut shall not subdue me — 

"i'is of thee that 1 thiidv — not of them. 

Thou;;h human, Ihon didst not deceive mc. 

Though woman, tbou didst not forsake, 
Thonu'ii loved, tliou Ibrborest to f;'rieve me, 

Tlioujih slander'd, thou never eouldst shake, — 
Thou;;h trusted, thou ilidst not disclaim me, 

TliotiL;'h parted, it was not to lly, 
Thoii,i;ii watchftd, 'twas not to del'ame me, 

IMor, mute, that the world nii^^ht belie. 

Yet I hlamc not the world, nor despise it, 

Nor the war of the many with one — 
If my sold was not iit(e(l (o jirize it, 

'Twas loll\' not sooner to shun : 
Anil if dearly that error hath cost mc, 

And more than I once could foresee, 
I have found that, whatever it lost me. 

It could not deprive mc of thee. 

From the wreck of the past, which hath pcrish'd, 

IMnis much I at least may recall. 
It hath t;iuj;'ht me that what I most cherish'd 

I)(>si'rve(l to i)e deai'cst of all : 
In the desert a fountain is springing. 

In the wide waste there still is a tree, 
And a bird in the solitude singing, 

Which speaks to my spirit of thee. 
July 24, 1816. 



EPISTLE TO AUGUSTA. 

Mt sister ! my sweet sister ! if a name 
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine; 

Mountains and seas divide us, but- I claim 
No tears, iiut tenderness to answer mine ; 

Go where I will, to me thou art the same — 
A loved I'cgret which I would not resign. 

There yet are two things in my destiny, — 

A world to roam through, and a home with theo. 



■iSO DOMES'I'IC I'lECES. 

Till- first wiMV nodiiiij;— liiul I still the lust, 
It wiMV till' iiiivi'i! of my li;iii|)iiii'ss ; 

But (illicr I'hiiius Mini oIluT lii's tiioii liiisl, 
Ami mine is not llic wish to iiiiikr tliciii less. 

A slriiii;;!' ilooiu is liiy f:itiu'r's son's, aiiil piist 
lli'ciUiiit;, lis it lies lu'voiul ri'divss ; 

llovi'isi'il loi liiiii our j;r;iii(lsiro\s falo of yorc,— 

lie liiul no i-fst ill si'ii, luif I 1)11 shore. 

If my iiili(Mit;mrf of storms Imth boon 
In other elcnienls, and on the roeks 

Of iierils, ovei'lookM or iinl'ori'seen, 

1 have snslainM my share of worldly shocks, 

Tiie faidt was mine; nor do 1 seek toVereeii 
My errors with defensive paradov ; 

r Inive been ennnin;,'' in mine ovi'rlhrow. 

The earefid Jiilot of my ]iro|ier woi'. 

Mine were my faults, and mine be I heir reward, 
My whole lil\' was a contest, since the day 

That ^ave me bein'^', f^ave me that which iiiarrM 
The ^ift, -11 fate, or will, that walk'd astray; 

And I at times have found the strnu'^^k' hardi 
And Ibonuht of shakinu- oil" my lionds of clay: 

Hnt now I fain would t'or a time "sjjjivive, 

If but to see what ne\tean well arrivi-. 

Kingdoms and enipircs in my lillle day 
1 have onllived, and vet I am not old; 

AikI when 1 look on this, tlii' iiett\- s])iay, 
_0r my own years of trouble, wliii-li have roll'd 

Like a wild hay of breakers, melts awa\ : 

kSoinothin^— I know not what— does still uphold 

A spirit of slight patience ;— not in vain, 

Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain. 

rorha|)s the workinji's of dcliaiiee stir 
Within me,— or perhaps a cold despair, 

Broiifiht on when ills habitually recur, — 
I'erhaps a kinder clime, or purer air, 

(For even to this may chanue of soul refer. 
And with li^^lit armor wo may learn to bear,) 

Ilivvo laii^hl. me a strange (iniel, which was not 

The chief I'oinpaniou of ii caliner lot. 

1 foci iilmost at times as I have felt 

In happy childhood ; trees, and llowers, and brook*:, 
Which do reincmlicr me of where I dwell, 

Im'o my youni;- mind was sai-riliced to books, 
Conio as of yore upon mo, and can melt 

My heart "with roeofiiiition of their looks; 
Ami even at moments L ooidd think 1 see 
Some living;' thin;;' to love— but none like thee. 

Hero are the Alpine landscapes which create 
A fund fm- conleniplation ;— to admire 

Is a i>rief feeling:' of a trivial date; 

IJiit sonicthiny' worthier do such scones inspii-e. 



DOMESTIC PrECES. 481 

Here to be lonely is not desolate, 

For much J view wliifli 1 could most desire, 
And, iiliove all, a lake I can behold 
Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old. 

Oil, liiiil thou wcrl but witii me!— but F }^i-ow 

'I'hi' Tool of my own wi^h(•s, and i'or;^et 
The solitude wiiieli I have vaunted so 

Has lost its praise in lliis but one rc^^ret; 
There may be otliei's wliich I less may show; — 

I am not of i\n: plaintive mood, and yet 
1 feel an ebb in my piiilosopiiy,' 
And the tide ri>in;f in my alter'd eye. 

I did remind thee of our own dear Lake, 

Hy the old Jiajl which may i)e mine no more. 

Ijcman's is fail'; but lliiidi not I forsake 
'J'he sweet r('nieml)rance of a dearer shore: 

Sad liavo<! Time must with my memory nia/.?, 
Kr(r t/iat or //ion can fade Ihcse ey<;s be'j,"';; 

Tlioii;,''h, like all thin^'^s which I have loved, they aro 

Ilesij^nM for ever, or divideil far. 

The world is all licfore me; I but ask 

Of Xatur(' ihal with wliicii sh(; will comply^ 

It is but in licr hummer's sun tn bask. 
To min^fle with tlie ipiicl of her sky. 

To Hee lier gentle lace williout a mask, 
And never pize on it with apathy. 

She was my early friend, and now shall be 

My sister — till I look a;^ain on thee. 

I can reduce all fcelintjs but this one;; 

And that I would not ;— for at Icri^ftii I see 
Such s<!(,'nes as those wherein my life bc;^un. 

The eailiest — even the only pallis for me — 
Had I but soonei' learnt the ci'owd to sliun, 

I had licen bettei' tlian I now can l)e ; 
The passions wliich have torn ni(; would have slept; 
/ had n(jt Hiitl'er'il, anil thou hadst not wejjt. 

With false Amiiition what had I to do ? 

JJttle with Love, and least of all with Fame; 
And yet they ciiine unsoiijilil, and with me jfrew, 

And made me all wliich lliey can make — a name. 
Yet this was not the end I did pursue; 

Surely I once l)elield a nobler aim. 
But all is over — I am one the moi'e 
To balHetl millions whieh have gone before. 

And for the future, this world's future may 

l''rom me demand but litlle of my care; 
I have outlived myself by many a day; 

Having survived so many things that were; 
My years have been no slumbei-, but (lie prey 

Of ceaseless vigils; for I had the share 
Of life which iniylit have lill'd a century, 
JLJefore its fourth in time had pass'd me by. 
31 



482 DOMESTIC PIECES. 

And for the remnant which may be to come, 

1 inn content; luul for the |)ast 1 feci 
Not tliankless, — for within llie ci-owiUm1 sum 

Of strn;;uh's, h!i]i]iiness at times wonhl steal, 
And foi' tiie |iresent, I would not lH'niinii> 

My feeiin^is lurthcr. — Nor sliall I conceal 
Tliai witli all tiiis I still can look around, 
And worsliii) Nature with a thoujihl jirofouud. 

I'^ir thee, my own sweet sister, in thy heart 
I Ivuow myself sceuri", as tliou in n\ine; 

^\'^• were and arc— 1 am, even as tiioii art — 
iieinus who ne'er each otlier can resign; 

It is tlu' same, to^icther or apart, 

l''roni Ul'e's eonnnencemcnt to its slow decHiie 

Wo oi'o entwined — let dcatli i-ome slow or fast, 

Tho tie which bound tlie lirsit, emlun-s tiic last! 



LIXES 

ON IlEAUINO TItAT LADY HYUON WAS ILL. 

And thou wcrt sad — yet I was not with thee ! 

And thou wcrt sick, and yet 1 was not near; 
Mctliouiiht tliatjoy and iu'ahli alouo-could lie 

W'lierc I was xo/^and pain anil sorrow hero. 
And is it tiins ? — it is as 1 foretold, 

And shall he moi'c so; for tlic mind recoils 
Uoon itsell", and the wreck'd heart lies cold, 

NVhile heaviness collects tiie shattcr'd spoils. 
It is not in tlic storm nor in the strite 

AW' feel l)enund)'d, and wish to he no more, 

Hut in the al'Icr-sileiu'c on tiie shore 
"When all is lost, except a little life. 

I nni too well nvon<;cd ! — hut 'twas my rijjht; 

Whate'er my sins niijiht he, f/iou wcrt not sent 
To he tlie Nemesis who should rcipiitc — 

Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument, 
^lercv is for (lie merciful! — if thou 
llast"l>een of sueli, 'twill he accorded now. 
Tiiv niiiiits are haiiish'd from the I'calms of sleep! — 

"i\-s! they may tlallcr tlicc, hnt thou shall feel 

A hollow auony which will not lu'ai. 
For liiou art pillow'd on a curse too deep; 
Thou hast sown in mv sorrow, and must reap 

The Intlcr harvest in a woe as real ! 
I have had many foes, hut none like thee; 

For "uainst the rest myself 1 could defend, 

And lie avenucd, or turn ihein into tVieiid; 
But thou in safe im|ilaeahilily 

lladst nouulit to dreail — in thy own weakness shielded, 
And in my love, which hath hut too much yielded. 

And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare — 
And thus upon the world — trust in thy truth — 
And the wild fame of my nnuovcrn'd" youth — 

Ou thiiiy;3 tluit were not, and on Ihings that are — 



DOMESTIC PIECES. 488 

Even iifion surli a biisin liiisl. Hum hiiilt 

A iiioiiuiiu'iil, whose iM'iiKiiit, liiilli lit^c'ii ;4uill ! 

'I'lic moriil ( 'lylciiiiicslrii of thy lord, 

Ami hcwM ilown, wilh ;iii iirisiis]icctc(| sworil, 

]'"uiiic, |>c;ic(', Mini hope — :uiii all the hcttci- lilo 

Which, hill for (his colli Irciisoii of (hy hciirt, 
Mi;;hl slill liavi' risen IVoiii out the ^rjivo of strifo, 

Ami foiiml 11 Holder ihity lliiui to pui't. 
liiil of lliy virliK^s diilsl Ihoii iiiiiko ii vice-, 

'rriidicldii;,'- wilh lliciii in ii purpose cold, 

I'or present an;;(;r, luiil for fiiliire ^joUl — 
And liiiyin;.'' other's ;4ricf ill any j)riec. 
Ami llnis once enlei'M inio crooUed wayH, 
'J'he early Iriilli, which was thy jiroper jiraisc, 
J)id liol slill walk beside llie(!--l)(it ill times, 
And with ii hreasi unknowinjr lis own <'rinius, 
Deceit, iiverineiils inconipalihle, 
]M|iiivoeiitiolis, and the Ihoii^lils which dwell 

ill .laiiiis-spirils — llie si;;ni(iciint ey<! 
Which Iciirns (o li(! wilh silence- tin; pretext 
Of I'rmleiice, wilh iidviinlii;;i;s aniiex'd — 
'I'lie iie(|iii(;sc(,'nec in all thin^is whi<'h teml, 
No maltiM" how, to the desired c^iid — 

All found a ])liic(! in thy philosophy. 
The iiieaiis wei'e worlhy, and IIk- i-iu\ is won — 
1 wonld not do hy thee as Ihoii hast iloiic ! 
tieptembvr, IsKi. 

WELL, TIIOU ART HAPPY. 

Wkm^! thou art liap|iv, and f feel 

Thill I should Ihiis lie hap ly loo; 
For still my hciirl re;;;irds thy weal 

Warnil}', as it was wont to do. 

Thy hiishand's hh^st — niid 'twill impart 

Some; nanj^s to view his hii])|)ier lot: 
,lJnt let tlnun pass — Oh ! how my heart 
Would hate him if he loved thco not! 

When late I saw thy favorite child, 

1 thou;;ht my jenloiis heart would break; 

lint wIkmi the umtonseious infant smiled, 
1 kiss'd it for its mother's sake. 

I kiss'd it, — Mild re|)r(!ss'(l my Mif^lis, 

Its father in its face to sec ; 
But then it had its mother's eyes, 

And they were all to lov(! and inc. 
Mar\', adieu ! I must away : 

While thou art blest I'll not repine; 
But near thee 1 can never stay ; 

My heart would soon (iHuin'be thine. 
I deein'd that tinut, I decm'd thai |)rid(! 

Had qiicnch'd at lcn;^lli niv liovish llaino; 
Nor knew, till seat(Ml by Ihy side, 

My iieurt in 'ill — save hope — the sanio. 



484 DOMl'STTC PIECES. 

Yet wns T rnliii : T know tlio timo 

My ln'i'.'ist woiilil tlirill hcli)ro iliy look; 

l>iU now to Ironiblo won- a crinio — 
A\'o mot, — and not a uei'vo was sliook. 

I saw (lioo ffazo npon niv I'aoo, 
Yot moot with no oont'u>ion there: 

C)no only I'oolinir oouldst tlion trace — 
TUo sullon oahnnoss of ilospair. 

Away! away! my early ihvam 

IJoniomhi'anoo iiovor must awake: 
Oh! whoro i< l.otho's l":il>lo.l stream ? 
]\Iy I'ooli.-h heart, ho still, or hrei'l^. 
Xorcmbcr '2, liSlti. 



THE VISION OV JUDGMENT. 

BY QUEVKIH) i;i:i)ivivus. 

8U00ii8Ti:i> liY Tirr: <;omi'()hition ho UNrn'MU) iiv riii; ai.tiioh of 

" WAT TVLKli." 



"A l)iitii<^l como to jiKlKiiKiiit ! yeii, n Daiilil! 
I timiik tlicc, Jew, Ibr toucliliig mc tlmt word." 



TREFACE. 

It hath boon wlsoly said, tlml"(ine fool iiuikfs many," /uid 11 hath boon 
poetically observed, 

" 'I'liat fools rush In where annels fear (o tnmi\."— /'ope. 

If Mr. fioiithey had not rushed In where lui had no hiislnesH, and where he 
never was hefore, and never will ho ajfain, Ihe foUowliiK poem would not have 
h(;en written. It is not iniposslhle that it niuy he as K"'id as his own, seeliiK that 
It cannot, hy an}- spiu'les of sliipidlly, naliiral or ae(|ulred, he worse. The ^;ro8» 
(lattery, the dull ImptideniX', the rene^ado iiitoleranee and hnploiis eant, of the 
poem by the author of " Wat Tyler," are sonK^lhlriK so stupendous as to form 
the sublime of himself— eontalnlutf the quintessence of his own attributes. 

So mui:li for Ills poem — a word on his prefaei'. In this pn^faee It has jjleascd 
the inaKUaidmons laureate to draw the picture of a supposed " Sataidc .School," 
the wlileh he doth recommend to the notic(! of the le«lslalure; thereby adding to 
Ids other laurels the ambition of those of an Informer. If there exists any- 
where, exc(!pl In his ImaKhiatlon, such a school, Is lie not siitllclently armed 
HKainst it by his own intiMise vainly? The truth is, lliat lliere an' eerlahi writers 
whom Mr. .S. ImaKlnes, like Hcriib, to have " talked of him; for they liiuk'hed 
consmncdly." 

I think I know enonph of most of th(> writers to whom he is supposed to 
allude, to assert, that they. In their Indivldnal capai'llies, have? don(^ more trood, 
in ttie charities of life, to llieir fi'liow-eroalnres In any oiu' year, than iMr. 
Soiilhey has done harm to himself by his absurdities in his wli(de life; and this 
Is sayhiK a tjreat deal. But I have a few (piestlons to ask. 

Istly, Is Mr. Honthey the author of " Wat Tyler "V 

2dly, Was he not refused a n'tnedy at law by the hlKlii'st judtje of his beloved 
England, because It was a blasphemous and seditious publication? 

485 



486 T^^ VISION OF JUDGMEXT. 

8(ll,v, Whs lu' nut ciilitU'cl liy William Siuitli, in lull rnrliaiiu'iit, "a rancorous 
roiicpido";' 

•llhly, Is lui not Poet Lauiviilo, witli his own linos on Mai'tiu tlio rcgiclilo stnr- 
inji him in tho I'lici!? 

And, Tillily, I'utlin;,' flio loiiv iin'ccdint,' items to^rdluT, willi what consolcnce 
Uaro /((■ fall the allcntion ol' Iho laws to tho luihlioalions oi" otliors, ho tlioy what 
Uio.v may? 

I say iiolhluK of tho cownrdloo of such a prococdhifj; its incaunoss speaks for 
itself; hut 1 wisli to touch upon the motive, which is neither more nor less than 
that Ml'. S. has liocn laUKhod at a little in some recent puhllcatlons, as he was of 
yore in tile "Anli-Jacobln " liy his jiresont patrons. Ileuco all this " skimhlo- 
scanihle slulV" al)oiit " LSatanic," and so forth. However, it is worthy of liini— 
(jiia/is all inci'ptu. 

If there is anythhi),' obnoxious to tho political opinions of a portion of tho 
ptiliiic ni the following l>oom, they may tlumk Mr. Sonthoy. Ilo miglit have 
written lu^xamctors, as lie has written everytliinf; else, for aut;ht that the writer 
careil — liad they been upon anotlicr subject. But to attempt to canonize a mon- 
arch, who, whatever were his iiousohold virtues, was neither a successful nor a 
patriot kliiK, — inasmuch as several years of his rcl!,'ii passed in war witli 
America and Ireland, to say notliinj; of the aggression upon France, — like all 
other exaggeration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever manner he may 
bo spoken of in this new " Vision," his public career will not bo more favorably 
transmitted by history. Of his private virtues (althoujrtru littlo oxpeiisivo to the 
nation) tliore can be no doubt. 

With regard to tlie sui)ernatural per.sonngos treated of, I can only say that I 
know as nnich about fhetu, and (as an lionost man) have a better right to talk to 
them, than Kobert Soullioy. I have also treated them more tolerantly. 'I'lie 
way in which that jxior insane creature, the l.anroato, deals aliout his jnilgments 
in the next world, is like his own judgment in tliis. If it were not eomplotoly 
ludicrous, it woidd be something worse. 1 don't think that there is nnicli more 
to say at present. QUEVEDO UEDIVIVUS. 



r. S.— It is possilde that some readers may object, in tliese objeetionablo 
times, to tho IVeedom witli which saints, angels, and spiritual persons discourse 
in this "Vision." Utit, for precedents upon such points, I must refer tlicm to 
I'lelding's "Journey from this World to tlie next," and to the Visions of myself, 
the said Quevedo, in Siianish or translated. Tlie reader is also requested to ob- 
serve tliatno doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or discussed; tliat the person of 
tile Deity Is carcfidly witliheld from siglit, which is more than can be said for tho 
Laureate, who halli thought proper to nuike Illm talk, not " like a school divine," 
but like the iinscholarllko Mr. Southey. Tlie whole action passes on tho out- 
side of heaven ; and (Miaucer's " AVife of Hath," Pulci's " llorgante Maggioro," 
Swill's "Talc of a Tub," and the other works above referred to, arc cases in 
point of tlie freedcaii with which saints, Ac., may bo permitted to converse in 
works not intended to lie serious. — Q. U. 

%* Sir. Southey, being, as he says, a good Christian and vindictive, threatens, 
I understand, a reply to this cair answer. It is to be hoiied that his visionary 
filculties will in the meantime have acquired a little more judgment, properly so 
called: otherwise he will get hliusolf Into new dilemmas. These apostate 
Jacobins t'uriiish rioli rejoiiulors. Let liiui take a specimen. Mr. Southey 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 4^7 

laudPthfrrievously "one Mr. Laiidor," who cultivates rnucli i)rivate renown In 
the sliape of Latin verses; ana not long ago, the I'oet Laureate dedieated to him, 
It appoareth, one of his fugitive lyrics upon the strength of a poem called Gebir. 
Who could suppose that In this same GeMr the aforesaid Savage Landor (for 
such Is his grim cognomen) puttctli into the infernal regions no less a person 
than the hero of his friend Mr. Southcy's heaven,— yea, even George the Third ! 
See also how personal Savage becometh, when he hath a mind. The following 
is his portrait of our late gracious sovereign : 

(Prince Cehir having descended into the infernal regions, the shades of his 
royal ancestors are, at his request, called up to his view: and he exclaims to 
his ghostly guide) : 

"Aroar, what wretch that nearest iis? what wretch 
Is that Willi <-yi-l)ivi\v.s whiti- and shuitiiit; lirow? 
Listen ! him ynmliT. who, h,,uml ilowii sni>iMe, 
Shrinks yelling from that sword there, cnginc-hung! 
lie too amongst my ancestors? I hate 
The despot, hnt the dastard I despise. 
Was he our countryman?" 

» "Alas, O king! 

Iberia bore him. but the breed accurst 
Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east." 
" He was a warrior then, nor feai'd the g<xls?" 
"Gebir, he fear'd tlie demons, not the gods, 
Though them indceil his dailv face adored; 
And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives 
Sfimmder'd, as slones to exercise a sling, 
And the tame cruelly and cold caprice— 
Oh, madness of mankind ! address'd, adored ! '*— 

Gebir, p. 28. 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 



I. 

Saint Pf-tkii sat l)y the rplostitil gtiio : 

His keys wiTC nisty, anil tlic lock was lUiU, 

So little iroiiliU' liad lu'cil j^iviMi of lato; 
Not lliat till' plai'i' liy any moans was full, 

IJiil si\iri' till' (i;illi(' ora " (.'it;hty-i'i;^iit," 

Till' ili-yils liail ta'fii a loiifioi', stroiiyia" pull 

Ami " a iHill allo^i-llior," as tlit-y say 

At sea — which ilirw most souls another wav. 



The anj;els all wei'c siiii;iiiu' out of tune, 
And luiarse with liayilij;' little else lo ilo, 

lC\ee|)tiiii4 to wind up the sun and moon, 
(,)r euri) a runaway youny' star or two, 

Or will! coll of a conicl, \yhich too soon 
Hi-oke out of hounds o'er the ethereal hi,, 

SpHltin;;' some |>l:niet \yitii its iilayfiil tail, 

As bouts arc somi'tiines by a wanton whale. 



The ;;uardian seraphs had retired on hi^rh, 
Finiiin;^- their eiiarji'cs past all care helow; 

Tcri'cstrial husiness fdl'd noui;'ht in the sky 
Saye the reeordiuL;' aniicl's black bureau; 

AVho found, iiuleed, the facts to multiply 
With such rapidity of yice and woe, 

That he had sti'ipp'il off both his wiu;;s in iiuills, 

And yet was in arrcar of Intuian ills. 

IV. 

His business so aiiffnientcil of hde years, 

Thiit ho was foi-cod, against his will no doubt, 

(f)ust like those cherubs, earthlv ministers,) 
For Mime resource to turn himself about. 

And claim the help of his celestiiil peers. 
To aid him ere he should be (|uite worn out, 

By the increased denumd t'or his remarks; 

Si.x anyels ami twelve saints were named his clerks. 

4S« 



THE VISION OF JUDCMEXT. ^f^^ 

V. 

This was a liaiidsoiiio Ixmnl— :it loasf, for heaven; 

And vet they had even tlicii ciiDii','!! to do, 
So many coiKiiicrors' cars were d;iily driven, 

So many kin^^doins filled up anew; 
Eaeh day too slew its Ihoiisands six or seven. 

Till at the (•rowniii;^- earnaye, Waterloo, 

They threw their pcins down in divine disgust 

The page wa,s so hesniear'd with blood and ilust. 

VI. 

Tiiis hy the way ! 'tis not mine to record 

What anj,a!ls shrink from : even the very devil 

On this occasion his own work ahhorr'd, 

^ So sin'feilcd willi Ihe liifcrna,! revel: 

Though lie himself hiid sliarpen'd every sword, 
II aliiK.st (jncncii'd iiis innate Ihirst of evil. 

nicre Satan's sole ;^()od work deserve.s insertion — 
lis, that he has l)oth generals in reversion.) 

VII. 

Let, 's skip a few slioi't ycjirs of hollow jicaee, 

Which pcojjled earth no better, hell as won't, 
And heaven none— fiiey form the tyrant's lc;ise, 
^ With nothing- but new names subsci'ihed upr)i'rt: 
Twill onc^ (lay finish: meanlime thcv increase, 

"With seven beads :,ud ten horns,'" and all in front 
Like Saml .h.liTi's f<,rclold I.c;ist? bnl ours are bora 
Less iormidabk' in the head I ban born. 

viir. 
In the first year of ft-eedoni's second dawn 

Died (Jeorge the Third; although no tyi-ant, one 
Wlio shielilcd tyrants, till each sense witlidrawu 

J>(l'l him nor nicnl;d nor external sun: 
A better farmer nc'ta' brusb'd dew from lawn, 

A worse king never left a realm undone! 
He died— but left his subjects still behind. 
One half as mail— and t'other no li-ss blind. 

IX. 

He died !— his death made no great stir on earth ; 

Ills burial made some ponii); there was profiis'ion 
Of velvet, gilding, brass, aiiii no great dearth 
^()f augbl. but (e;irs— sa,ve those shed by collusion. 
Fo)' these things may be bought at tbeir"ti-iu: woi1h; 

<)1 elegy there was the due infusion— 
noiighl also; and tin; torches, eloaks, and banners 
Herakl.s, anil relies of old CJolhie manners, ' 

X. 

Form'd a sepulchral melodrame. Of all 

The fools who llock'd to swell or see the show, 

Who cared about the eorpse ? The funeral 
Made the attraction, and the black the woe. 



490 THE TV.S70.V OF JUDGMEXT. 

Thoro tlirolili'.l not tliiMv iv tliou^lit wliirli pii-rcoil the pall 

And wlu'ii tho uorut'oiis cotlin \v;is laid low, 
It seiMu'd the mockery ol" lu'll to fold 
The i"ottcuuess of eighty yeui-s in yold. 



So mix his body with the dust! It niiuht 
Hetiirn to wlial it must far sooner, were 

The natural eoniimuiid left alone to fii;ht 
Its way liaek into earth, and fire, and air; 

But the "unnatural halsanis merely liliulit 
^^'llal nature nuule him at his liiith, as bare 

As the mere million's base nnnmunuied elay — 

Yet all his spiees but prolong ileeay. 



He's dead— and upjier earth with him has done; 

He's liuried; save the undertaker's bill, 
Or lapidary scrawl, the world is y-one 

For him', unless lie left a (iernian will ; 
But wiiere's the jiroetor who will ask his son ? 

In whom his (pialities are reiiiuiui:- still, 
Exeept that household virtue, most nneommon, 
Of coustiiuey to a hml, ii;:ly woman. — 

XIII. 

" God save the kinsi-! " It is a larfjc economy 
In (iod to save the like; hut if Ho will 

l?e saviuj;-, all the better; for not one am I 
t)f those who think damnation better still: 

1 hardly know too if not iiuite alone am I 
In this small hope of betteriuL;- future ill 

By eiri-umscribinu, with some sli^^ht restrietiou, 

The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction. 



I know this is unpopular ; I know 

'Tis hhisphemous ; 1 know one may ho damn'il 
For hopinj;' no tme else may e'er he so; 

I know my i-atechism ; I know we are cramm'd 
With the best doctrines till we (piite o'ertlow ; 

1 know that all save KiiL^land's church have shamm'd; 
And that the oilier twice two hundreil churches 
And synagogues ha\ e nuide a dainn'd bad purehuso. 



Ood help us all ! Ood help nic too ! I am, _ 
(ioil knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, 

And not 11 whit more ditUeult to damn. 
Than is to brim;- to land a late-hook'd fish, 

Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb; 
Kot that I'm tit for sucii a noble dish, 

As one ilay will be that immortal fry 

Of almost everybody born to die. 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 491 

XVI. 

Saint Pc'tor sat l)y the celestial pate, 

And uoddccl o'er liis keys; when, lo ! there came 
A wondrous noise lie lia<l not hoard of late — 

A rushinji' sound of wind, and stream, and llanie; 
In short, a roar of thinj^^s extremely {i'reat, 

\\']ucii would have made aii<rht save a saint exclaim ; 
liut lie, with first a start anil then a wink, 
Said, " There's another star gone out, I think ! " 

XVII. 

But ere he could return to his repose, 

A clicruh lla|i))'d his rv^hX win;x o'er his eves — 

At which Saint I'ctcr yawn'd, and riibh'd his nose: 
"Siiinl jiortcr," s;iid tiic An;;('l, "])riliicc rise!" 

Wavinj,' a ^;<iodly win;^-, whicli j^low'd, as ;^l<)ws 
An earthly |)c;i.c<)ck's tail, with heavenly dyes; 

To whicli tli(^ Saint replied, " \V'cll, what's the matter? 

Is Lucifer come hack with all this clatter ? " 

XVIII. 

"No," quoth the cheruh; " (ieorjrc the Third is dead." 
" And who is (jeorj^fe tlic Third ? " repliiMl the ajiosilc. 

" ]Mi<(t George f w/idt Third 1 " "The king of Kngland," said 
The angel. "Well ! he won't iind kings to jostle 

llim on his way; hut does he wear his head ? 
r>ci"iuse the last we saw here had a tussle, 

And ne'er would have got into heaven's good graces, 

Had he not thing his head in all our faces. 

XIX. 

" lie was, if I rememher, king of France; 

That head of his, which could not kee]) a erowa 
On earth, yet ventui'cd in my face to advance 

A cliiim to those of martyrs — like my own : 
If I had had my sword, as I had once 

When I cut ears olf, I had cut him down; 
But having l)ut my /ci/s, and not my IumirI, 
I only knock'd his head from out his hand. 

XX. 

" And then he set up such a headless howl, 
That all the saints came out and took him in; 

And there he sits hy Saint I'aul, check hy jowl; 
That fellow Paul — the jiarvcnii ! The skin 

Of Saint liartholomew, which makes his cowl 
In heaven, and upon earth redeeni'd his sin, 

So as to make a martyr, never sped 

Better than did this weak and wooden head. 

XXI. 

"But had it come up here upon its shoulders, 
Tlicrc would have hcen a diUcrcnt- tide; to tell; 

The fellow-feeling in the saints heholdcrs 
Seems to have acted on them like a spell; 



492 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 

And so this very foolish head heaven solders 

Back on its trunk : it may he very well, 
And seems the custom here to overthrow 
Whatever has been wisely done below." 



The an.^^el answor'd : " Peter : do not pout : 
The icinu' who comes has head and all entire, 

And never Iviiew much what it was about — 
He did as doth the puppet — by its wire, 

And will be jud<i:cd like all the rest, no doubt : 
My Inisiness and your own is not to inquire 

Intosuch matters, l)iit to mind our cue — 

Which is to act as we arc bid to do." 



While thus they spake, the ang^elic caravan, 

Arri\in<r like a rush of mighty wind, 
Cleavin^r the fields of space, as tloth the swan 

Some silver stream (say Ganifcs, Nile, or Inde, 
Or Thames, or Tweed), and 'midst them an old man 

With an old soul, and both extremely blind, 
Halted before the gate, and in his shroud 
Seated their fellow-traveller on a cloudr^ 



But bringing up the rear of this bright host, 

A Spirit of ;i ditfcrent aspect waved 
His wings, like thunder-clouds above some coast 

Whose barren beach with frequent wrecks is paved ; 
His brow was like the deep when tcrapest-toss'd ; 

Fierce and unfathomable thoughts engraved 
Eternal wrath on his immortal face, 
And iclu've he gazed a gloom pervaded space. 



As he drew near, he gazed upon the gate 
Ne'er to be enter'd more by him or Sin, 

With such a glance of supernatural hate. 
As made Saint Peter wish himself within; 

He pattcr'd with his keys at a great rate. 
And sweated through his apostolic skin : 

Of course his perspiration was but ichor, 

Or some such other spiritual liquor. 



The very cherubs huddled all together. 

Like birds when soars the falcon; and they felt 

A tingling to the tip of every feather. 
And form'd a circle like Orion's belt 

Around their poor old charge ; who scarce knew whither 
His guards had letl him, though they gently dealt 

With royal manes (for by many stories. 

And true, we learn the angels are all Tories). 



THE VISIOX OF JUDGMENT. 493 

xxvir. 

As thinjrs were in this posture, the g-ate flew 

Asunder, and the flashing of its hinges 
Fhing over space an universal lute 

Of many-color'd flame, until its tinges 
Reucli'd even our speck of earth, and made a new 

Aurora horealis spread its fringes 
O'er the North Pole ; the same seen, when ice-bound. 
By Captain Parry's crew, in " Melville's Sound." 

XXVIII. 

And from the gate thrown open issued beamiuo- 
A beautiful and mighty Thing of Light, 

Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming- 
Victorious from some workl-o'erthrowing fight : 

My poor comparisons must needs be teeming '^ 
With earthly likenesses, for here the night 

Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving 

Johanna Southcote, or Bob Southey raving. 

XXIX. 

'Twas the archangel Michael : all men know 

The make of angels and archangels, since 
There's scarce a scribbler has not one to show. 

From the fiends' leader to the angels' px-ince. 
There also are some altar-pieces, tliough 

I really can't say that they much evince 
One's inner notions of immortal spirits; 
But let the connoisseurs explain their merits. 



Michael flew forth in glory and in good, 
A goodly work of Ilim from whom all glory 

And good arise; the portal past — he stood; 
Before him the young cherubs and saints hoaiy- 

(I say young, begging to be understood 
By looks, not years, and should be very sorry 

To state, they were not older than Saint Peter, 

But merely that they seem'd a little sweeter.) 

XXXI. 

The cherubs and the saints bow'd down before 

That archangelic hierarch, the first 
Of essences angelical, who wore 

The aspect of a god ; but this ne'er nursed 
Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core 

No thought, save for his Maker's service, durst 
Intrude, however glorified and high ; 
He knew him but the viceroy of the sky. 

XXXII. 

He and the sombre silent Spirit met — 

They knew each other both for good and ill ; 

Such was tlieir power, that neither could forget 
His former friend and future foe ; but still 



,|«)| 77//: r/,s7()V ()/'• .//7>fM//:.V7'. 

Thrrc wns ii liijrli, iinniorliil, proud rosrivt 

III oil tier's eye, iis if 'Iwrrc loss tlioir will 
Tliiiii ilcsliiiy io iiiuKc llio I'lcrniil ycMi's 
'riu'ir dull' of iviir, iiiul tlicir "('liiim|i clos " llic splioiTs 

XXXllI. 

lint lirn- ttu-y were in nciilriil sinn'i" : wi' l^n^l^v 
I'riMii .Iciti, lliiil Siiliin linlli (tio nowor lo |>;iy 

A tu':i\iMitv visii llirici- ii vcnr or so; 

Ami lliii'l "llii' sons of (Jo.l," like tlios,- of cliiv. 

Miisl Wc\< liini i'oiii|miiy ; iiinl wo niij^lil sliow 
l''roiii tlio siiiiio lioolv, ill liow i>olilo n wav 

Tlio .liilloivno is hold l.olwoon (ho I'owors 

or (iood mid I'lx d hiil 'iwould t:lko up hoiii'S. 

X\XIV. 

And tliis is not ii tlioolo^'io tnict, 

'Po in-ovo wiili llohrow iind with Ariiliir, 
ItMoli 1.0 iiUoiiory oi- ii liiot. 

lint !i Iriio luirriitivo ; mid thns I |>iolc 
Fi'oiii onl tlio wliolo hnl snoli mid siioli mi not, 

As sols iisido llio sliu'litost tlioimlit of Iriok. 
'Tis ovory tiltlo tnio, hoyinid suspicion, 
And iioonriito its uny ollior vision. 

xxx\ . 

Tlio spirits woro in iionlnil sivioo, liol'oro 

Tlio ;;:ilo of liotivoii ; liUo I'.iisioru lluvsholds is 

Tlio pliioo wlioio noMlli's lii'mid oMiiso is iiriiiiod o'er. 
Ami souls dis)mloird to lliiit world or to iliis; 

And ltiort>t'ori> Miolitiol mid tlio oilior woro 
A oivil iispoot ; llioimh llioy did not Kiss, 

Yot still hotwooii his limknoss mul his Urii;litiK'S» 

Thoro |iiiss'd :v ninliiiil fihinoo of j^roiil polilonoss. 

x\ \v;. 
Tlio Ari-li!iii.",ol liow'd. no! liko ii iiiodorn bo.'iii, 

Unt with !i >;r!ioot"iil OrivMilal hond, 
Vrossiiii;' ono nidimil iirni just wlioro bolow 

Tlio lioiirt in j^ood nion is snpiiosod to toiul. 
llo tiini'd lis to mi 0(|n!il, not loo low. 

lint kiiidh ; Siil;in mot liis unoiout iViond 
^^'itll nioro )i!\iitonr, us nii<;lil .ill old Ctistiliiiu 
V\wv nolilo moot ti nuislirooin rioh oiviliuu. 

XXXMI. 

Ho moivly liont his diuholio hnnv 

An instant ; mid thou ruisinsi' it, ho stood 

In not to tissort. liis riji'lil or wroni;-, mul show 

Cnnso why Kinif (loori^o hy no nu'iuis ooiild or should 

Hiiko out ii'oiiso lo ho o\oiiii>l tVoiu woo 
llloriiiil. i.ioro (iimi otlu-r kiivu's, oiuluod 

\Villi holtor soiiso mid hoiirls, wlioiii history nionlioiis 

Who loiijf hsivo *' puvoil hoU with tlioir j;»nul inloutions." * 

• "'NoHiiliit 111 ttio ooiiitio of Ills ivlltiloiis Wiii-ftiiv w:\s inoiv soiisllilo of the 
iiiitmi>l>v l^ilUiit' <>r nloiis ri'sulvos lliiiii l>l'. .luliiismi . Iio siilil ono >lii> , liilKtim lo 
iiii m\nii>lm«iu'o oil tills »ul\|oct, ' Sir, lioll Is jmvi'il wIlU ijovhI luUMitKms.' " 



rni: c/.s/ov or .h/u.muxt. 



'IDA 



X X X V ri I . 
Mii'liiicl li.jiiiri ; " Wliii-I womMhI IIi.mi willi (IiIm iiimii, 

NiiW ciciiil, lUiil l)l()li;.;|i| licI'Dfc lliii Lonl i" VVIillf ill 
IIiilli he wnMijrIil hIiii'i- Iiim iiiiii'lril nici! Iir;^(i,li, 

'I'liiil Ihiill ciiii-tl r'liiiiii liiiri f ,S|)ciik ! iiiiil ill) (liy will, 
II' il III' jiisl : ir ill iliis ciirllilv H|iiiii 

Mil li.'illi liri'ii Krciilly rniiini' In rilllll 
IMm iliilii'N MX II, kiii^-; nil. I iiiMidil, Hiiv, 
Am! lid is lliilin; if III, I, Il I liiiii liiivit wiiy." 

X X X t X . 

" Mirliiicl!" n.|,|i,.,| ilii' I'riii.w. (,r Air, "rvcii jicrd, 

lld'oii' lliii (.;iilr (,(• jliiii III, ,11 McrvcHl, iiiiimI 

I '^'I'i .V HiiliJccI, ; 11.111I will tiiiikc (iii|icar 

'riiiil iix lii^ wiiM my \vi>r'M|ii)i))iT in ifiml, 
Ho mIimII he Ik- in H|.iii|, iilil ,.|i ilmr 

'I'll llici- mill lliiiii., licciiiiMi' nor wiiir nor IiihI, 
WfM'l^ of hlM Wcil,l<liCMMi>H, yd, oil llir lliinnn 
H(! ri'i^'n'd o'er iiiiJJioiiM l.o mirvt! nn' iilnni'. 

XI,. 
" l;iM,N III niir ciirlli, or riillirr iniiir: il, wiH, 

(hirr, iiiiirr Ihy Mimlrr'N; Itiil I lriiini|>li iiol 
In lliiH iioor iiIiiiii'I.'h i'oiir|iiCN( ; nor, 11I111 ! 

N<'i'il lli'llioii hrrvcMl, ciivv nil' my lul : 
With nil till' inyriinlM of jirljilil woi I'lU wliidi |.iinh 

111 worHlii|i roiinil jlim, i||i niiiy Imvc Corjiol 
Yon Weill, rrciilion nf iiiih )iii||rv lliinu'H; 
I lliiiiK I'lw worili ihiiiiiiMiion Miivii IlinV UijiKm— • 

XI, I. 

" AihI IIhmi' lull, IIS II, Niiiil of i|iiil rinl, |o 

AsMiii, my ii,,.||( im |i„.,|; „,„| ,.^,,,1, j|,„( 
i Miidi nil inrliniilioii 'Iwrrc (iis yon 

VVi'll l<iiow) Mii|ifrlliions; llny'iirr j-rowM ho l.inl, 
'riiiil, hrll liiis nolliliiir |,i'H,.|' |,.f| I,, ,|,, 

'I'liMii liiive llii'iM lo llirniHrlvi'H! so iniirli nioiT niiiij 
Ami evil Ity llii-irown inliMiiiil ciirsr, 
llnivcn ciuinol, iniilu: lliini lnliir, nor I vvorsi'. 

XI, II. 

" l,o'.!< lo llii! ciirlli, I Hiiiil, iinij siiv ii;.fiiin: 

VVIii-n lliis olil, liliml, ininl, ||(.||,1cmm,' wciiic, |ioor worm 

JJojfiin in yoiilli's (irsi Mooin iiml IIiikIi lo rrwyn, 
'\'\u: world Mini lie liolli wore, M iliU'crcnl lorm, 

Amhiincli of cMrlli ninl nil llir wiiliiv iilnin 
or ofcMii ritllM liim kin;': tliroii;.|i' niMiiy 11, slorm 

l|is isles liiiil lloiileil on Hie iiliysH of lime; 

I''or Hie roii;,;li virtues eliosi! Ili'em \'i,v Hiiir elimc. 

XI, III. 
" Me cilliH! to his Hci-pli'd .yoiin^; lie jenves it. old ; 

Lool( lo (lie Hliiti! ill wli'idi lie ronnd his reiilin, 
And lel'l, il ; iind his luiiiitls loo heliolil, 

How to u minion /Irst In; jfiivo the In Im ; 



490 THE VISION or Jl'DGMEXT. 

How grow upon his heart a thirst for jrohl, 

The beg-yar's vice, which can l)ut ovcrwliohn 
The uieancst hearts! and for tlio rest, hut ylaucc 
Thiiic eye along America and Fnmcc. 



" 'Tis true, lie was a tool from first to last 
(I have the worknien safe) ; but as a tool 

So let him be consumed. From out the past 
Of a^es, since mankind have known tiie rule 

Of monarcli-^ — from the itloody rolls amass'd 
Of sin and shuii^hter — fi'om the Ca-sars' school 

Take the worst pupil ; and proiluce a reiijn 

JNEore drenchM with gore, more cumber'd with the slain. 

XLV. 

"He ever wan-'d with freedom and the free: 
Nations as men, home sul)iccts, foreign foes. 

So that tliey ntler'd the word ' Liberty ! ' 

Found (Jcorge tlu' Tliird their first opponent. Whose 

History was ever stain'd as liis will be 
With national and individual woes ? 

I grant his liousehold abstinence; L^'ant 

His neutral virtues, wliich most monarchs want; 

XLVI. 

" I know he was a constant consort; own 
He was a decent sire, and middling lord. 

All this is nuicli, anil most u]>on a tin-one; 
As temiiorance, if at Apicius' board. 

Is more than at an anchorite's supper shown. 
1 grant iiim all the kindest can accord; 

And this was well for him, but not for those 

Millions who found him what oppression chose. 



" The New World shook him otT; the Old yet groans 
lieneath what he and his ]irepared, if not 

Completed : he leaves heirs on many thrones 
To all his vices, without what begot 

Conqiassion for ium — his tame virtues; drones 
Who sleep, or despots who liave now forgot 

A lesson which shall be retaugiit them, wake 

Upon the thrones of CiU-th ; but let them quake ! 



"Five millions of the primitive, who hold 
The faith whicli makes ve great on earth, implored 

A part of that vast <i/l th'ey held of old,— 
Freedom to worshi)) — not alone your Lord, 

Michael, but yon, and you, 8aint reterl Cold 
Must lie your souls, if yon have not abhorr'd 

The foe to Catholic participation 

In all the license of a Christian nation. 



TEE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 497 

XLIX. 

" True ! he allowM them to pray God : hut as 

A coiiscMjiieiice of |)r;ivcr, rclusod the law 
W hicii wo.ihl have jilace,! th.'in u|.oi, tlic same hase 

\\ .111 those wlio (lid not hold the saints in awe." 
lint lieie Saint Peter started from his i)lace, 

And ened, " You may tiie prisoner withdraw: 
J^re heaven shall ope lier portals to this Guelph, 
While I am guard, may I be dximn'd myseli"! 

L. 

" Sooner will I with Ccrhcrus cxchan"-e 
My office (and his is no sinecure) "^ 

Than sec tliis royal Bedlam hij-ot ran<re 
The azure fields of heaven, of that he sure ' " 
Saint ! " replied Satan, " you do well to aven<Te 
J hewrono-s he made your satellites endure:" 

And d to this c.\elian<i-e you should he n-iven, 

1 11 try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven." 

LI. 

Hci-e Michael interposed : "Good saint! ami devil' 
1 rav, not so fast ; you both outrun discretion. 

baint 1 etcr! you were wont to he more civil ■ 
Satan! excuse this warmth of his expression. 

And condescension to the vul<rar's level : 
Even saints sometimes for-ct themselves in session 

Have you -ot more to say ? "_" No."-" If you please 

1 11 trouble you to call your witnesses." 

LII. 

'^Ijf " •^*?*'^" tTirn'd and waved his swarthy hand. 

niiiclj slur'd with its electric qualities 
UoiK s farther off tliMii we ran understand, 

Althou<:h we find him sometimes iu our skies; 
Iniernal thunder shook boili sea and land 

In all the planets, and hell's batteries 
Let ott'the artillery, which Milton mentions 
As one of Satan's most sublime inventions. 

Liir. 

This was a sifrnal unto such damn'd souls 

As have the privilege of their damnation 
±-xtendcd far beyond the mere controls 

Of worlds past, present, or to come ; no station 
Is tli_eu-s particularly in the rolls 

Of hell assi<i-n'd;"hut where their inclination 
Or business carries them in search of f^ame, 
Ihcy may range freely— being damn'd the same. 

LIV. 

They are proud of this— as verv well thev may, 

It being a sort of kniglithood, or gilt key 
Stuck in their loins ; or like to an entrd 

Up the back stairs, or such freemasonry. 
32 ^ 



498 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 

I borrow iny comparisons from clay, 

Boiiifj clay myscU'. Let not those spirits be 
Offended with such base low likenesses ; 
We know their posts are nobler far than these. 



When the preat siijnal ran from heaven to hell — 
About ten million times the distance reckon'd 

From our sun to its earth, as we can tell 

How much time it takes up, even to a second, 

For every ray that travels to dispel 

The fojrs of London, thronjiii which, dimly beacon'd 

The weathercocks are pilt some thrice a year, 

If that the summer is not too severe. 



I say that I can tell — 'twas half a minute : 
I know the solar beams take up more time 

Ere, pack'd u)) for their journey, they begin it; 
But then their telegraiih is less sublime. 

And if they ran a race, they would not win it 

'Gainst Satan's couriers liouncl for their own clime. 

The sun takes up some years for every ray 

To reach its goal — the devil not half-i day. 



Upon the vergre of space, about the size 
Of half-a-crown, a little sjicek appear'd 

(I've seen a something: like it in the skies 
In the iEgean, ere a scjuall) ; it near'd, 

And, growing bigger, took another guise; 
Like an ai'rial ship, it tack'd and steer'd. 

Or was steer'd (I am doubtful of the grammar 

Oi the last phrase, which makes the stanza stammer 



But take your choice) ; and then it grew a cloud ; 

And so it was — a cloud of witnesses. 
But such a cloud ! Xo land e'er saw a crowd 

Of locusts numerous as the heavens saw these ; 
They shadow'd with their myriads space ; their loud 

And varied cries were like those of wild geese 
(If nations may be liken'd to a goose). 
And realized tiie phrase of " hell broke loose." 



Hei'e crash'd a sturdy oath of stout John ]5ull. 

Who damn'il away his eyes as heretofore : 
There PaiUly brogued " By Jasus ! " — " What 's your wufl ? " 

The temperate Scot exclaim'd : tlie French ghost swore 
In certain terms I shan't translate in fidl. 

As the first coachman will ; anil 'midst the war, 
The voice of Jonathan was heard to exjiress, 
" Our president is going to war, I guess." 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 499 

LX. 
Besides, there were the Spanianl, Dutch, and Dane; 

In short, an universal shoal of shades, 
From Otaheitc's i.sle to Salisbury Plain, 

Of all olinies and professions, years and trades, 
Ready to swear against the good king's reig'n, 

Bitter as clubs in cards are against spades : 
All sninmon'd by this g-rand " subpoena," to 
Try if kings mayn't be damn'd like me or you. 

LXI. 

When Michael saw this host, he first grew pale, 

As angels can ; next, like Italian twilight, 
lie turn'd all colors— as a peacock's tail. 

Or sunset streaming through a Gotbic skylight 
In some old al)bcy, or a trout not stale, 

Or distant lightning on the horizon bi/ night, 
Or a fresh rainbow, or a grand review 
Of thirty regiments in red, green, and blue. 

LXII. 

Then he address'd himself to Satan : " Why, 

My good old friend — for such I deem you, though 

Our ditierent parties make us fight so shy, 
I ne'er mistake you for a personal foe ; 

Our ditference is po/it/cal, antl I 

Trust that, whatever may occur below, 

You know my great respect for you : and this 

Makes me regret whate'er you do amiss — 

LXIII. 

" Why, my dear Lucifer, would you abuse 

My call for witnesses ? I did not mean 
That you should lialf of earth and hell produce; 

'Tis even superlltious, since two honest, clean, 
True testimonies are enough : we lose 

Our time, nay, our eternity, between 
The accusation" and defence : if we 
Hear both, 'twill stretch our immortality." 

LXIV. 

Satan replied : " To me the matter is 

Indilicrcnt, in a personal point of view: 
I can have fifty better souls than this 

^\'itll far less troul)le than wc have gone through 
Ah'caily ; and I merely argued his 

Late Majesty of Britain's case with you 
Upon a point of form : you may dispose 
Of him; I've kings enough below, God knows! " 

LXV. 

Thus spoke the Demon (late call'd " multifaced" 
By multo-seribbling Southey). " Tiien we'll call 

One or two persons of the myriads placed 
Ai'ouud our congress, and'dispeuse with all 



500 THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 

The rest," quoth Michael : " Who may be so frraPed 

As to speak iirst ? there 's clioii'O enough — who shall 
It be ? " Then fcjatau aiiswer'd, " There are many ; 
But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as auy." 



A merry, cock-eyed, curious-lookinff sprite 
Upon the instant started IVoni the thronj;, 

Dress'd in a lasliion now forji'otteu (luite; 
For all the fashions of the llesh stick long 

By jieople in the next worhl; where unite 

All the costumes since Adam's, right or wrong 

From Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat, 

Almost as scanty, of days less remote. 



Tlie spirit look'd around upon the crowds 

Assembled, and exclaim'd : " My friends of all 

The spliercs, we shall catch cold atnonust tlicse clouds; 
!So let's to business : wliy tliis general call ? 

If those are freeholders I see in shrouds, 
And 'tis for an election that they bawl. 

Behold a candidate with unturn'tl coat ! 

Saint Peter, may I count upon your vtrtc ? " 



" Sir," replied ^lichael, " you mistake ; these things 

Are of a former life, and wliat we do 
Al)ove is more august; to judge of lyings 

Is the tribunal met : so now you know." 
" Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,** 

Said Wilkes, " are cherubs; and that soul helow 
Looks much like George the Third, but to my mind 
A good deal older — Bless mc ! is he blind ? " 



" He is what you behold him, and his doom 
Depends upon his deeds," the Angel said. 

" If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb 
Gives license to the humblest beggar's head 

To lift itself against the loftiest." — " Some," 

Said Wilkes, " don't wait to see them laid in lead 

For such a liberty — and I, for one. 

Have told them what I thought beneath the sun." 



" Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast 
To urge against him," saiil the Archangel. " Why," 

Eeplied the spirit, " since old scores are past. 
Must I turn evidence ? In faith, not I. 

Besides, I beat him hollow at the last. 

With all his Lords and Commons : iu the sky 

I don't like ripping up old stories, since 

His conduct was but natural in a prince. 



THE VISIOX OF JUDGMENT. 50 1 

LXXI. 

" Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress 

A jioor unlucky devil without a shillin;,^ ; 
But iheu I lilanie the man himself mueh less 

Than Bute and (Ji-al'ton, and sliall be unwilling 
To sec him punish'd here for their excess. 

Since they were both damn'd lon^ a<,^o, and still in 
Their place below : for me, 1 have forfjiven, 
And vote his ' habeas corpus' into heaven." 

Lxxir. 

"Wilkes," said the Devil, " I understand all this; 

You turn'd to half a courtier ere you tlied, 
And seem to think it would not l)e amiss 

To >;row a whole one on tlie other side 
Of Charon's ferry; you foroet that his 

Keijiii is couchided ; whatsoe'er betide, 
lie won't be sovereign more : you've lost your labor, 
For at the best he will but be your neighbor. 

LXXIII. 

"However, I knew what to think of it, 

When I beheld you in your jestinj; way, 
Flittinjj and whispering;- round about the spit 

Where Belial, upon duty for the day. 
With Fox's lard was bastin<^ William Pitt, 

His pujiil; I knew what to think, I say: 
That fellow even in bell l)reeds further ills; 
I'll have him gagc/'d — 'twas one of his own bills, 

LXXIV. 

" Call Junius ! " From the crowd a shadow stalk'd. 
And at the name there was a f;eneral squeeze, 

So that the very f^hosts no lonjicr walk'd 
In comfort, at their own atrial ease. 

But were all ramni'd, and jamin'd (l)ut to i)c balk'd, 
As we shall see), and jostled hands and knees, 

Like wind compress'd and pent within a bladder, 

Or like a human colic, which is sadder. 



The shadow came — a tall, thin, o:ray-hair'd figure, 
That look'il as it had been a shade on earth ; 

Quick in its motions, with an air of vi^or. 
But nouj;ht to nuirk its breedin<i- or its birth : 

Now it wax'd little, then a;^ain ^a-ew i)i^ger. 
With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth; 

But as you gazed upon its features, they 

Changed every instant — to what, none could say. 



The more intently the ghosts gazed, the less 
Could they distinguish whose tlie features were; 

The Devil himself seem'd puzzled even to guess; 
They varied like a dream — now here, now there ; 



502 THE VISIOX OF JUDGMENT. 

And several people swore, from out the press, 

They knew him perfectly : and one could swear 
He was his father : upon which another 
Was sure he was his mother's cousin's brother : 



Another, that he was a duke, or knight, 

An orator, a lawj'er, or a priest, 
A nal)ob, a man-midwife : l)ut the wight 

Mysterious changed his countenance at least 
As oft as they their minds : though in full sight 

He stood, the puzzle only was increased; 
The man was a phantasmagoria in 
Himself; — he was so volatile and thin. 



The moment that you had pronounced him one, 
Presto! his face changed, and be was another; 

And when that change was hardly well put on, 
It varied, till I don't think his own mother 

(If that he had a mother) would her sou 
Have known, he shifted so from one to t'other; 

TiU guessing from a pleasure grew a task, 

At this epistolary " Iron Mask." ''^ 



For sometimes he like Cerberus woidd seem — 
"Three gentlemen at once" (as sagely says 

Good ISIrs. Malaprop) ; then you might deem 
That he was not even one ; now many rays 

Were Hashing round him : and now a thick steam 
Hid him from sight — like fogs on London days : 

Now Burke, now Tooke, he grew to people's fancies, 

And certes often like Sir Philip Francis. 



I've an hypothesis— 'tis quite my own ; 

I never let it out till now, for fear 
Of doing people harm about the throne, 

And injuring some minister or peer, 
Ou whom the stigma might perhaps be blown : 

It is — my gentle public, lend thine ear ! 
'Tis that what Junius we are wont to call 
Was realltj, truly, nobody at all. 



I don't see wherefore letters should not be 
Written without hands, since we daily view 

Them written without heads ; and book's, we see, 
Are fill'd as well without the latter too : 

And realh' till we fix on somebody 

For certain sure to claim them as his due, 

Their author, like the Niger's mouth, will bother 

The world to say if tkere be mouth or author. 



THE VISION OF JUDGMEXT. 503 

LXXXII. 

" And who and what art thou ? " the Archanjcel said. 

"For t/i<it you may consult ray title-pag-e," 
Replied this nii;4hty shadow of a shade : 

" If I have koi)t my secret half an age, 
I scarce shall tell it now." " Canst thou upbraid," 

Continued Michael, " George Rex, or allege 
Aught further ? " Junius answer'd, " You had better 
First ask him for his answer to my letter : 



" My charges iijion record wiU outlast 
The brass of both his epitaph and tomb." 

"Repent'st thou not," said Michael, "of some past 
Exaggeration r — something which may doom 

Thyself if false, as him if true ? Thou wast 
Too bitter — is it not so ? — in thy gloom 

Of passion ? " — " Passion ! " crietl the phaatom dim, 

" 1 loved my country, and I hated him. 



" What I have written, I have wntten; let 
The rest be on his head or mine ! " So sjwke 

Old "Nomiuus Umbra; " and while speaking yet, 
Away he melted in celestial smoke. 

Then tiatan said to Michael, " Don't forget 
To call George Washington, and John llorne Tooke, 

And Franklin; " — but at this time there was heard 

A cry for room, though not a phantom stirr'd. 



At length with jostling, elbowing, and the aid 

Of cherubim appointed to that post. 
The devil Asmodeus to the circle made 

His way, and look'd as if his journey cost 
Some trouble. When his burden down he laid. 

What 's this ? " cried Michael ; " why, 'tis not a ghost ! ' 
" I know it," quoth the incubus ; " but he 
Shall be one, if 30U leave the afiEair to me. 



" Confound the rencgado ! I have sprain'd 

My left wing, he 's so heavy ; one would think 

Some of his works about his neck were chain'd. 
But to the point : while hovering o'er the brink 

Of Skiddaw (where as usual it still rain'd), 
I saw a taper, far below mc, wink, 

And stooping, caught this fellow at a libel — 

No less on history than the Holy Bible. 

LXXXVII. 

*' The former is the devil's Scripture, and 

The latter yours, good Michael ; so the alTair 

Belongs to all of us, you imderstand. 
I snatch'd hun up just as you see him there. 



504 I'^E VISION OF JUDGMENT. 

And brought him otV ioi- sentence out of hand: 

I've scarcely l>een ten niinutes in the ail" — 
At least a quarter it can hartlly l)e : 
I dare say that his wile is still at tea." 

Lxxxviir. 

Here Satan said : " I know this man of old, 
And have expected him for some time here; 

A sillier fellow you will scarce iiehold, 
Or more conceited in his petty sphere : 

But sureh- it was not worth while to fold 

yuch trash below your winji', Asmodens dear: 

We had the poor wretch safe (without tieing bored 

With carriage) comiug of his own accord. 

LXXXIX. 

" Bat since he *s here, let 's see what he has done." 
*' Done ! " cried Asmotleus, " he anticipates 

The very business you are now upon, 

And scribbles as if head clork to the Fates. 

Who knows to wiiat his ribaldry may run, 

When such an ass as tiiis, like Halaam's, prates ?" 

"Let's hear," quoth Alichai'l, " what he has to say; 

You know we're bountl to that in cvery-way." 

xc. 

Now the bard, ghid to <ret an audience, which 

By no means ol'ten was his case below, 
Bcfran to cough, and hawk, and hem, and pitch 

His voice into that awful note of woe 
To all uuha]>py hearers within reach 

Of poets Avhiii the tide of rhyme 's in llow; 
But stuck last witii his lirst hexameter. 
Not one of all whose gouty feet would stir. 

XCI. 

But ere the spavin'd dactyls could be spurr'd 

Into recitative, in givat dismay, 
Both cherubim and seraphim were hcartl 

To nnu-mur loudly through tiieir long array; 
And Michael rose ore he could get a wcn'd 

Of all his fouiider'd verses under way. 
And cried, " For (Jod's sake stop, my friend; 'twere bcst- 
iVort Di, jw/i /lomiiwi — j-ou know the rest." 



A general bustle spread throughout the throng. 
Which seoni'd to hold all vei-se in detestation; 

The angels had of course enough of song 
When upon scnice; and the generation 

Of ghosts had heard too I'uuch in life, not long 
Befoix% to pixifil by a new occasiDu : 

The monairh, nmtetill then, exclaim'd, "What! what! 

Pi/e come ag-aiu ? No more — no more of that ! " 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 505 

XCIII. 

The tumult prcw ; an universal coufrh 

Convulsed the skies, as cUiriii<»' a debate, 
When Castlcrea^i'h has been up long' cnouy:h 

(Before he was first minister of state. 
I mean — the slaves hear note) ; some cried, " Ofl", off! " 

As at a farce; till, grown quite desperate, 
The bard Saint Peter pray'd to interpose 
(Himself an author) only for his prose. 

xciv. 
The varlet was not an ill-favor'd knave; 

A fi'ood deal like a vulture in the face, 
With a lioolv nose and a hawk's eye, which gave 

A smart and sharper-looking sort of grace 
To his whole aspect, which, though rather grave, 

Was by no means so ugly as his case ; 
But that indeed was Iioiiciess as can be, 
Quite a poetic felony " de se." 

xcv. 
Then Michael blew his trump, and still'd the noise 

With one still greater, as is yet the mode 
On earth besides ; except some grumbling voice, 

Which now and then will make a slight inroad 
Upon decorous silence, few will twice 

Lift up their lungs when fairly overcrow'd ; 
And now the l)ard could plead his own bad cause, 
With all the attitudes of self-applause. 



He said — (I only give the heads) — he said, 

lie meant no harm in scribbling ; 'twas liis way 

Upon all topics ; 'twas, besides, his bread. 

Of which he i)utter'd both sides ; 'twould delay 

Too long the assembly (he was pleased to dread), 
And take up rather more time than a day 

To name his works — he would but cite a few — 

"Wat Tyler" — "Ehymes on Blenheim" — "Waterloo.' 

XCVII. 

He had written pi-aises of a regicide ; 

He liad written praises of all kings whatever; 
He liad written for republics far and wide. 

And then against them bitterer than ever; 
For pantisocrac}' he once had cried 

Aloud, a scheme less moral than 'twas clever; 
Then grew a hearty anti-Jacobin — 
Had turn'd his coat — and would have turn'd his skin. 



He had sung against all battles, and again 
In their high praise and gloiy ; he had call'd 

Reviewing "the ungentle craft," and then* 
Become as base a critic as e'er crawl'd — 

* See '• Life of Henry Kirke White." 



50G THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 

Fed, paid, and pamper'd by the very men 

By whom his muse and morals had been maul'd: 
He had written much blank verse, and lilanker prose, 
And more of both than anybody knows. 



He had written Wesley's life ; — ^here turning round 
To Satan : " Sir, I'm ready to write yours. 

In two octavo volumes, nicely bound, 

With notes and preface, all that most allures 

The pious purchaser ; and there 's no ground 
For fear, for I can choose my own reviewers : 

So let me have the proper documents. 

That I may add you to my other saints." 

C. 
Satan bow'd, and ^vas silent. " Well, if yon, 

With amiable modesty, decline 
My offer, what says Michael ? There are few 

Whose memoirs could bo rendcr'd more divine. 
Mine is a pen of all work : not so new 

As it was once, but I would make you shine 
Like your own trumpet. Bv the way, my own 
Has more of brass in it, and is as well bimvn. 



" But talking about ti-umpets, here 's my vision ! 

Now you shall judge, all people; yes, you shall 
Judge with my judgment, and by my decision 

Be guided who sliall enter heaVen, or fall. 
I settle all these things by intuition, 

Times present, past, to" come, heaven, hell, and aD, 
Like king Alfonso. When I thus see double,* 
I save the Deity some words of trouble." 

CII. 

He ceased, and drew forth an MS. ; and no 
Persuasion on the part of devils, or saints, 

Or angels, now could stop the torrent ; so 
He read the first three lines of the contents ; 

But at the fourth, the whole spiritual show 
Had vanish'd, with variety of scents, 

Ambrosial and sulphureous, as they sprang. 

Like lightning, otf from his " melodious twang." f 



Those grand heroics acted as a spell ; 

The ansrels stopp'd their cars and plied their pinions ; 
The devils ran howiin<r, deafen'd, down to hell; 

The ghosts fled, gibbering, for their own dominions— 

» Alfonso, speaking of the rtolomean system, said, that "had he been co.,. 
pulted at tlie creation of the world, he would have spared the Alaker some 
absurdities." 

t See Aubrey's sccontit of the Apparition which di'sappeared " with a curious 
perfume and a most innludious twan</;" or see the Antiquary, vol. i. p. 225. 



THE VISION OF JUDGMENT. 597 

(For 'tis not yet decided where they dwell, 
And I leave every man to his opinions) ; 
Mic'liael took refuge in his trump— but, lo ! 
His teeth were set on edge, he could not blow ! 

CIV. 

Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known 
For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys, 

And at the fifth line kuock'd the poet down; 
Who fell like Phacthon, but more at case, 

Into his lake, for there he did not drown ; 
A diflfcrent web being- by tlie Destinies 

Woven for the Laureate's final wreath, whene'er 

Reform shall happen either here or there. 

cv. 

He first sank to the bottom— like his works, 
But soon rose to the surface — like himself; 

For all corrupted things are buoy'd, like corks,* 
By their own rottenness, light as an elf. 

Or wisp that flits o'er a morass ; he lurks. 
It may be, still, like iluU books on a shelf. 

In his own den, to scrawl some " Life " or " Vision," 

As Welborn says—" the devil turn'd precisian." 

CVI. 

As for the rest, to come to the conclusion 

Of this true dream, the telescope is gone 
Which kept my optics free from all delusion. 

And show'd me what I in my turn have shown ; 
All I saw further, in the last confusion. 

Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven for one; 
And when the tumult dwindled to a calm, 
I left him practising the hundredth psalm. 

* A drowned body lies at the bottom till rotten; it then floats, as most Deoole 
snow. V V ^ 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MAID OF ATHENS, EEE WE PART. 

Xuir; fioT', rra; ayairQ.* 

Maid of Athens, crc we part. 
Give, oh, u'ivc me back my heart! 
Or, since that has left my breast, 
Keej) it now, and take the rest ! 
Hear my vow before I go, 

£(i»; /lol, ffdj ayaTrd. ^-~ 

By those tresses unconfined, 
Woo'd by each ^Egean wind ; 
By those lids whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge; 
By those wild eyes like the roc, 
'Ldi; /ioti, aas ayaiziji. 

By that lip I long to taste ; 
Bv that zone-encircled waist ; 
By all the tokcn-tlowcrs that tellf 
What words can never speak so well 5 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 

Xiir] fiou, a&i ayairCi. 

Maid of Athens ! I am gone : 
Think of me, sweet ! when alone. 
Though I fly to Istambol,+ 
Athens holds ni}' heart and soul: 
Can I cease to love thee ? No ! 

Soi); fiou, crii dyaird. 

Athens, 1810. 

* Romaic expression of tenderness: if I translate it, I shall affront the sjentle- 
men, as it may seem that I supposed they could not; and if I do not, I may 
aft'ront the ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I 
shall do so, hedging pardon of the" learned. It means, " My life, I love you ! " 
wliich sounds vcryprettily in all languages, and is as much in fashion in (ireece 
at tliis day, as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were amongst the Koman 
ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenized. 

t In the East, (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble 
assignations,) flowers, cinders, pebbles, Ac., convey the sentiments of tlie par- 
ties, bv that universal deputy of Mercury— an old woman. A cinder says, " I 
burn for thee;" a bunch of flowers tied with hair, " Take me and fly;" but a 
pebble declares— what nothing else can. 

t Constantinople. 

608 




The Maid of Athens. — Page 508. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 599 



FAREWELL! IF EVER FONDEST PRAYER. 

Fauewell ! \ ' ever fondest prayer 

For others' wea.1 avail'd on high, 
Mine will not all lie lost in air, 

lint wail thy name heyonil the sky. 
'Twerc vain to speak, to weep, to sijih : 

Oh! nioi'e tiian tears of blood ean tell, 
When wrnng from ^jiiilt's expirinji' eye, 

Are in that word — Farewell ! — Farewell ! 

These lips arc mute, these eyes are dry ; 

But in my breast and in my i)rain 
Awake the ])angs that pass not by, 

The thonght that ne'er shall slee)) a;;ain. 
My soul nor deigns nor dares i^omplain, 

Though grief and passion there rebel: 
I only know we loved in vain — 

1 only feel — Farewell ! — Farewell ! 
1808. 

BRIGHT BE THE PLACE OF TIIY SOUL. 

Bright be the ])laee of tliy soul ! 

No lovelier spirit than thine 
E'er burst from its mortal control. 

In the orbs of the blessed to shine. 

On earth thou wert all but divine. 

As thy sold shall immortally be; 
And our sorrow may cease to repine. 

When we know tiiat thy God is with thee. 

Light be the turf of thy tomb ! 

May its verdure like emeralds be ; 
There should not be the shadow of gloom 

In aught that reminds us of thee. 

Yonng flowers and an evergreen tree 
May spring from the spot of thy rest: 

But nor cypress nor yew let us see ; 

For wliv should we mourn for the blest ? 
1808. 



REMIND ME NOT, REMIND ME NOT, 

Remind me not, remind me not, 

Of those beloved, those vanisli'd hours, 
A\'lu'n all my soul was given to thee; 
Hours that may never be forgot. 
Till time nnnerves our vital jHiwers, 
And thon and I shall cease to be. 

Can I forget — canst thou forget. 

When playing with thy golden hair, 
How quick thy lluttcring heart ilid move ? 



510 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Oh ! by my soul, I see thee yet, 

With eyes so lan<|uiil, breast so fair, 
And hps, though silent, breathing love. 

When thus reclining on my breast. 
Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet, 
As half reproach'tl yet raised desire, 
And still we near and nearer prest, 
And still our glowing lips would meet, 
As if in kisses to expire. 

And then those pensive eyes would close, 
And bid their lids each other seek. 
Veiling the azure orbs below ; 
While their long lashes' darken'd s'loss 
Seem'd stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek. 
Like i-aven's plumage smooth'd on snow, 

I dreamt last night our love return'd. 
And, sooth to say, that very dream 
Was sweeter in its fantasy, 
Than if for other hearts I burn'd. 

For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam 
In rapture's wild realit}'. 

Then tell me not, remind me not, ^~ 
Of hours which, tliough for ever gone. 
Can still a pleasing dream restore. 
Till thou and I shall be forgot, 

And senseless as the mouldering stone 
Which tells that we shall be no more. 



THERE WAS A TEME, I NEED NOT NAME. 

There was a time, I need not name, 

Since it will ne'er foi-gotten be, 
Wben all our feelings were the same 

As still my soul hath been to thee. 

And from that hour when first thy tongue 
Confess'd a love wliich etiuall'd mine. 

Though many a grief my heart liatli wrung, 
Unknown, and thus imfelt by thine. 

None, none hath sunk so deep as this — 
To think how all that love hath flown ; 

Transient as every faithless kiss. 
But transient iii thy breast alone. 

And yet my heart some solace knew, 
When late I heard thy lips declare, 

In accents once imagined true. 
Remembrance of the days that were. 

Yes ! my adored, yet most unkind ! 

Though thou wilt never love again. 
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find 

Remembrance of that love remain. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ^n 

Yes ! 'tis a glorious thouo-ht to me, 

Nor lonjrcr shall my soul repine, 
Whate'er thou art, or" e'er shalt be. 

Thou hast been dearly, solely mine. 



AND WILT THOU WEEP WHEN I AM LOW? 
And -n-ilt thou weep when I am low ? 
^ S\veet lady ! speak those words again : 
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so — 
I would not give that bosom pain. 

My heart is sad, my hopes are gone. 
My blood runs coldlv tlu'ough my breast; 

And when I perish, thou alone 
Wilt sigh above my place of rest. 

And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace 
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine ; 

And for a while my sorrows cease. 
To know thy heart hath felt for mine. 

O lady ! blessed be that tear- 
It falls for one who cannot weep : 

Such precious drops are doubly dear 
To those whose eyes no tear may steep. 

Sweet lady ! once mv heart was warm 

With every feeling soft as thine ; 
But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm 

A Avretch created to repine. 

Yet wilt thou weep when I am low ? 

Sweet lady! speak those words again; 
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so— 

I would not give that bosom pain. 



ON PARTING. 

The kiss, dear maid ! thy lip has left 

Shall never part from mine. 
Till happier hours restore the gift 

Untainted back to thine. 

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, 

An equal love may sec ; 
The tear that from thine eyelid streams 

Can weep no change in me. 

I ask no pledge to make me blest 

In gazing when alone ; 
Nor one memorial for a breast 

Whose thoughts are all thine own. 



512 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 

Nor need I write — to tell the tale 

My pen were doubly weak : 
Oh !"what can idle words avail, 

Unless the heart could speak ? 

Bj' day or niii'ht, in weal or woe, 

Tliat heart, no louj^er Tree, 
Must Itear the love it eannot show, 

And silent, ache for thee. 
March, 1811. 

THOU ART NOT FALSE, BUT THOU ART FICIvLE. 

Thou art not false, hut thou art fickle. 
To those thyself so fondly souifht; 

The tears thai tliou h;ist forced to trickle 
Are donlily liiltor from that thou^'ht : 

'Tis this whicli lircaks the heart thou gricvest, 

Too well thou lov'st — too soon thou leavest. 

The wholly false the heart despises. 

And spurns deceiver and deceit; 
But she who not a thought disguises, 

Whose love is as sini-ere as sweet, — 
When she can change who loved se^'uly, 
It feels what mine has felt so uewly. 

To dream of joy and wake to sorrow. 

Is dooni'd to all who love or live; 
And if, wlicu conscious on the morrow, 

We scarce our faui'v can forgive, 
That cheated us in shunlicr only. 
To leave the waking soul more lonely. 

What must they feel whom no false vision. 
But truest, teuderest passion warm'd ? 

Sincere, hut swift in sail transition ; 
As if a dream alone had charm'd ? 

Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, 

And all thy change can be but dreaming ! 



REMEMBER HIM, WHOM PASSION'S ROWER. 

Rememheu him, whom passion's power 

Severely, deeply, vainly proved: 
Remember Ibou that dangerous hour 

When neither fell, though both were loved. 

That yiehling breast, that mefting eye. 

Too much inviteil to be bless'd ; 
That gentle prayer, that pleading sio'h, 

The wilder wisli reproved, repress d. 

Oh ! let me feel that all I lost 
But saved thee all that conscience fears ; 

And blush for every pang it cost 
To spare the vaiii remorse of yeai'S. 



1813 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 513 

Yet tliink of this when many a tongue, 

Whose hu.s3' iiffcnts whisper bhmic, 
Would do the heart that loved thee wron", 

And brantl a nearly blighted name. "^ 
Think that, whate'er to others, thou 

llast seen eacli selfish thoiigiit subdued : 
1 bless thy jjiirer soul even now. 

Even now, in midnight solitude. 
Oh, God ! that we Iiad met in time, 

Our hearts as fond, thy hand more free; 
\\ hen thou hadst loved without a crime, 

And 1 been Ksss unworthy thee. 

Far may Ihy days, as heretofore, 

From tiiis our gaudy world i)e past! 
And that too iiittcr moment o'er. 
Oh ! may such trial he thy last ! 
Tliis heart, alas ! perverted long, 

Itself destroy'd might thee destroy; 
To meet thee in the glittering throng. 

Would wake Presumption's hope of joj. 
Then to the things whose bliss or woe. 
Like mine, is wild and worthless all. 
That world resign— stu'h scenes forego. 

Where those who feel must surely fall. 
Thy youth, thy charms, thy tenderness, 

Ihy sold Ironi long seclusion pure; 
From what even here hath pass'd, may guesa 

M'hat there thy Itosoiu must enihire". 
Oh ! pardon that imploring tear. 

Since not by Virtue shed in vain. 
My frenzy drew from eyes so dear; 
For me they shall not weep again. 
Though long and nu)urnful must it be, 

The thought that we no nu)re may meet; 
Yet I deserve the stern decree. 

And almost deem the sentence sweet. 
Still, had I loved thee less, my heart 

Had then less sacrificed to ihine ; 
It felt not half so much to jiart, 
As if its guilt had made thee mine. 



LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. 
Deau ol)ject of defeated care ! 

Though now of Love and liiee bereft, 
To reconcile me with despair, 
_ Thine iniaue and my tears are left. 
Tis said with Sorrow"Tiine can cope; 

Rut this I feel can ne'er be true : 
For by the dcathbloAv of mv Hope 

My Memory innuortal grew. 



614 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

There be none of Beauty's daughters 

With a mafiic like thee ; 
And like imisic on tlic waters 

Is thy swc't't voice to me : 
When," as if its simiid were causing 
Thi' chariiu'd ocean's pausin;^', 
The waves lie still and ;;'leaniinji', 
And tlie lidl'd winds seem dreaming. 

And tlie niidnij^ht moon is weaving 
Her bright chain o'er the deep; 
Whose breast is gently heaving. 

As an infant's asleej) : 
So the spirit bows before thee, 
To listen and adore thee; 
Willi a full but soft emotion, 
Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 



THE CHAIN I GAVE. 

FUOiNt THE TURKISH. 

The cluxin I gave was fair to vicw^ 

The lute I added sweet in sound ; 

The heart that otVer'd both was true, 
And ill deserved the fate it found. 

These gifts were charm'd by secret spell, 
Thy truth in absence to divine; 

And tJiey have done their didy well, — 
Alas ! they could not teach thee tldne. 

That chain was firm in everv link, 
But not to bear a stranger s touch ; 

That lute was sweet — till thou coiddst think 
In other hands its notes were such. 

Let him, who from thv neck unbound 
The chain which shiver'd in his grasp, 

Who saw that lute refuse to sound, 
He-string the chords, renew the clasp. 

When thou wert changed, they alter'd too; 

The chain is liroke, the nuisic unite. 
'Tis past — to them and thee adieu — 

False heart, frail chain, and silent lute. 



TRANSLATION OF THE ROMAIC SONG: 

iip'iionirj; X(ii;<5ii," itc* 

I ENTER thy garden of roses, 
Beloved and fair llaidee, 

» The SOUR flMin wliioU this is talioii is ii ni-oiU t'avorito witti the yoiuiff Rlrls 
of Athens ot' nil elasses. Their manner dt' sinning it is liy verses in rotfttion, 
the wliole number present joining in the chorus. The uir is plaintive uuJ 
pretty. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 515 

Each mornin,? where Flora reposes, 

For surely I sec her in thee. 
Oh, Lovely ! thus low I implore thee. 

Receive this fond truth I'roni my tongue, 
Which utters its song to adore Ih'cc, 

Yet trembles for what it has sun^-; 
As the branch at the bidding of Nature, 

Adds IVagrancc and fruit to the tree, 
Through her eyes, through her every feature, 

Shines the soul of the young Iluidec. 

But the loveliest garden grows hateful 

When I^ove has abandon'd the bowers; 
Bring me hendock — since mine is ungrateful. 

That herl) is more fragrant than flowers. 
The poison, when pour'il from the chalice, 

Will deeply cnd)itter the bowl; 
But when ih-unk to escape fiom thy malice. 

The draught siiall be sweet to my soul. 
Too cruel ! in vain I implore thee 

My licart from these horrors to save : 
Will nought to my bosom restore thee } 

Then open the gates of the grave. 

As the chief who to combat advances 

Secure of his conquest before. 
Thus thou, with those eyes for thy lances, 

llast pierced through my heart to its core. 
Ah, tell mc, my soul ! must I perish 

By pangs which a smile would dispel ? 
Would the hope, which thou once bad'st me cherish, 

For torture repay me too well ? 
Now sad is the garden of roses. 

Beloved but false Ilaidee ! 
There Flora all withcr'd reposes 

Aud mourns o'er thine absence with me. 



TRANSLATION OF A ROMAIC LOVE SONG. 

Ah ! Love was never yet without 
The pang, the agony, "the doul>t, 
Which rends my heart with ceaseless sigh, 
While day and night roll darkling by. 

Without one friend te hear my woe, 
I faint, I (lie l)eneath (he l)low. 
That Love had arrows, well I knew; 
Alas ! I find them poisou'd too. 

Birds, yet in freedom, shun the net 
Wliich Love around your haunts hath set; 
Or, circled by his fatal fire. 
Your hearts shall burn, your hopes expire. 



516 MISCELLAXEOrS POEMS. 

A liinl of free and careless wing: 
Was I, tlirou^'li many a smilini;- spring; 
But cauLilit within tlic subtle snare, 
I burn, and feebly llutter there. 

Wlio ne'er have loved, and loved in vain, 
Can neither feel nor pity pain, 
The eold rejMdse, the look askanee, 
The liji'htnin'j: of Love's angry glance. 

In Hatteriuir dreams I deeni'd thee mine; 
Now hojie, and he who hoped, deeline; 
Like melting wax, or witiiering llower, 
I feci my passion, and thy power. 

My light of life ! ah, tell me why 
That pouting lip, and alter'd eye ? 
My lijnl of love! my hi-auleous mnte! 
And art thou changed, and eaust thou hate i 

INIine eyes like wintry streams o'erflow : 
Whai wretch with me would barter woe ? 
My bird! relent! one note could give 
A charm, to bitl thy lover live. 

My curdling blood, my madd'uingJjKtin, 
In silent anguish 1 sustain; 
And still thy heart, witiiout partaking 
One pang, exults — while mine is breaking. 

Pour me the poison ; fear not thou ! 
Tliou canst not murder nunv than now : 
I've lived to curse my natal dav. 
And Love that thus can lingering slay. 

My wounded soul, my bleeding breast, 
Can patience preach thee into rest ? 
Alas ! too late, I dearly know 
That joy is harbinger of woe. 



FROM THE PORTUGUESE, 

" TU MI CHAMAS." 

In moments to delight devoted, 

" My life ! " with tenderest tone, you cry! 

Dear words! on which my heart had vlotcd. 
If youth could neither iade nor die. 

To death evi-n hours like these must roll, 
Ah! then repeat those accents never; 

Or change " my life ! " into " my soul ! " 
^^'hich, like my love, exists for ever. 

AXOTIIEU VERSION. 

You call me still your life. — Olt ! change the word- 
Life is as transient as the inconstant sigh ; 

Sav rather I'm your soul ; more just that name; 
J^or, like the soul, my love can never die. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 5^7 

SONNETS TO GENEVllA. 
I. 
TniNE pyos' hliic loiiilcriKss, lliy lonji' lair hair, 

And (lu; wan liistiv of thy rca'turcs— caiifrlil 

From coiiUMiipiatioii — wIhto scrciu'ly wi-oii;>'li(, 
Seems Sorrow's softness ehanu'd I'roiu'its despair- 
Have tlirown siieli spcaivinj;- sadness in thine air, 

That— hnt I know thy blessed bosom fraujjlit 

With mines of niialloy'd and staiidess thonj-'ht— 
I shonid ha,v(^ deem'd tiiee doom'd to earthly eare. 
With such a,n a-s|)ect, hy his colors i)lent, 

When I'rom his l)ea.nly-l)reatiiin;;- pencil born, 
(ExeepI tiiat f/ioii hast nothinjr to repent) 

The JMau'dah'n of (iiiido saw the morn — 
Such seem'sl (lioii — l)ut how much more oxcellent! 

With nouf^ht llemorse cai. claim — uor Virtue scorn. 
December 17, ISi;}. 



TiiY clieek is pale with thoupbt, but not from woo, 
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could llusii 
Its rose of whiteness with the briiihtest hinsh, 

My heart would wish away that rucler j^Iow : 

And daz/le not thy deep-blue eyes — but, oh ! 
While j,'a/iii^- on Ihem sterner eyes will j,nish. 
And into mine* my mother's weakness rush, 

Soft as the last drojis round heaven's airv bow. 

For, thron^i-h thy lonj;' dark lashes low d'epi'ndinL;-, 
The soul of melancholy (ientleness 

Gleams like a, serapli from tiie skv descending;-, 
Above all jiain, yet pityin.t;' all distress ; 

At once such majesty witli sweetness l)lendiiig', 
I worship more, hiit cannot love thee less. 



SONNET TO LAKE LEMAN. 

Rousseau— Voltaire— Our Gibbon, luul Dc Stacl— 
Leman! these names arc worthy of thy shore,*- 
Thy shore of names like these! wert thou no more, 

Their memory thy remend)rance would recall: 

To them thy banks were lovely as to all, 

But they have made them lovelier, for the lore 
Of mi^ihly minds doth hallow in the core 

Of human hearts the ruin of a wall 

Where dwelt the wise and wondi-ons; but by thee, 

llow much more. Lake of Beauty! do wc feel, 
In swi'ctly ^ilidin^i- o'er thy crystal sea, 

The wild f^low of that not u"ni;-enlle zeal. 
Which of the heirs of immortalitv 

Is proud, and makes the breath of "lory real! 

* Geneva, Forney, Copet, Lausanne. 



518 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

DARKNESS. 

1 MAI) !i (hcam, which Wiis not nil a dream. 

Tlic l)ii^ht sun was o\liii;:iiish'(l, ami the stars 

])iil wander darklin.^ in tiic eternal spaee, 

liavless, and jialhless, and tlu' iev earlh 

Swim;;' lilind and hlackeninj;' in the moonless air; 

ISIorn came and went — and eann", and brought no day, 

And nu'n r()r;^i)t their passions in tlu' dread 

Ol' this their desolation ; and all hearts 

"Were ehillM into asellish prayer Tor li^hl : 

And they did live l)y watehlircs— and the thrones, 

The palaces of crowned Uinj;s — the huts, 

The hahitalions of all thinj;s which dwell, 

M'ere liiunt for beacons; cities were consumed. 

And men were ^ather'd round their blaziny homes 

To look oneo more into each others' face; 

llai)py wi'rc those wlu) dwi'lt within the eye 

Uf tlie volcanoes, and their mountain-torch : 

A fearful hope was all the world ct)ntain'd; 

I'ort'sts wei'c set on (Ire — hut hour bv hour 

They fell and faded— and the craeklinj;- trunks 

ICvti'nuuish'd with a crash —and all was lilack. 

The brows of men by the despairing; light 

AX'ore ail unearthly aspect, as by lits 

The Hashes fell upon them ; some lay down 

And. hid their eyes and wept ; and some did rest 

Their chins upiin their clenched hands, and smiled; 

And others hiu'ried to and fro, and fed 

Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up 

^Vilh mad distiuietude on the dull sky. 

The jiall of a past world; and then again 

AN'ith curses cast them down upon the dust, 

And gnash'd their teeth and liowl'd : the wiUl birds shriek 

And, terrilii'd, did llutter on the ground. 

And Hap their nsidess wings; tlu' wihk'st brutes 

(.'auu> tame and tremulous; and viiters crawl'il 

And twined themselves among the nudlitude. 

Hissing but stingless^they were slain for food: 

Aiul \V:n\ which for a moment was no more. 

Did glut himself again; — a meal was bought 

\\ith blood, and each sate suUeidy apart 

(iorging himself in gloom : no lo\e was left; 

All earth was but one ihiuight — anil that was ilcath, 

Innnediate and inglorious; and the pang 

Of fanune l\'d niion all entrails — men 

Died, and their bones were tombless as their llosh ; 

The mi'agrc by the meagre were devoui'M, 

Kven dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, 

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 

The birds and beasts and fanush'd men at l)ay. 

Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead 

Lured their lank Jaws; himself sought out uo food, 

Ihit with a \)ileous and pi'rpelnal moan, 

And a i|uick desolate cry, licking the hand 

\\'hieli answered net willi a caress — he died. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 519 

The crowd was rmnisliM ])y dc^rroes; Imt two 

or iiii I'lioi'iiioiis I'ily (lid survive, 

And llii'v wiTo cnciiiics : tlicy met hosidc 

Tlw dyili;; (.•iidxTS of uii idt;ii--i)l:ic(,' 

AVliere hud Imeii hoii|i'd u muss ol' holy thiii;,'-3 

For an unholy usa^c; (hey rakod up," 

And shivcrinji' scraped wiih their cold skeleton hands 

T\h\ leebh' ashes, and IIkmi' Ceehle breath 

JJlew Ibi- a little lite, and made a llanie 

AVhi<'li was a mockery; then they lified up 

Their eyes us it ;^iew li^;litor, and licheld 

Each other's aspects— saw, and shriek'd, ami died— 

Even ol' their iiuitnal hideonsness they died, 

Ullknowin;;- who h(' was npon whose hrow 

EandMc had written I''icnd. 'I'iie world was void, 

The popidons and the powerful was a lump, 

Seasonless, herhless, treeless, manless, lifeless — 

A lump of death— a chaos of hard clay. 

The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still, 

And nothin;,' stirr'd wilhin their silent depths; 

Ships sailorless lay roltin;;- on the sea. 

And their masts Icll down piecemeal; as th<'y droppM 

They slept on tli(^ abyss wilhoiil a surj^e — 

The waves were dead; the tides were in their i^ruve, 

The Moon, their mistn^ss, had expired before; 

The winds were wilher'd in the stagnant air. 

And the clouds perish'd ! Darkness had no need 

Of aid from Ihem— alio was the Universe! 

DiOUATI, Jul//, ISltj. 



CHURCHILL'S gkave. 

A FACT LITKKALLY KENDEUEl). 

I STOOD beside the f,'-ravc of him who blazed 

'I'be comet of a si'ason, and I saw 
'J'lic humblest of all se])ulehres, and j^a/.ed 

With not the less of sorrow and of awo 
On that ne}>lected turf and quiet stone, 
A\ilh name no clearer than tlu^ names unknown. 
Which lay unread around il ; and I ask'd 
^ 'I'he (Jardener of that ground, why it nn^ht bo 
That for this plant stran<;-ers his m(;mory task'd 

'J'hrou;ili the thick deaths of half a century ? 
And thus he answer'd : "Well, 1 do not know 
Why freipient travellers turn to piljirims so; 
Ho died before my day of Sextonship, 

And I had not, the (li^-;;in;;- of Ibis ^■rav(^" 
And is this all ? I Ihoii^^bl, - and do wo rip 

The veil ol' Innnortality ? and crave 
I know not what of honor and of li^ht 
Throu;;h unlxn-n ajres, to endure this bliyiit ? 
So soon, and so successless ? As I saiil, 
'The Arclutect of all on which w(! tread, 
Eor Ivuih is but a londistonc, did essiiy 
To extrieulo remembrance from the clay, 



520 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Whose min-jlinjis niiuht confuse a No\vtoa's thought, 
Were it not lliat all life must ciul in one, 
Of which we are luit ilreaniers ; — as ho eiiught 
As 'twere llie t\vili;;'lit of a former Sun, 
Thus s|)i)ke lie : " I believe the man of whom 
You wot, who lies in this seleeteil ti)mii, 
Was a most famous writer in his day, 
Anil therefore travellers sti'p from out their way 
To \y^Y to him iionor, — and myself wliale'er 
Your honor jileases." Then most jileased 1 shook 
From out my pocket's avaricious nook 
Some certain coins of silver, which as 'twere 
Perforce [ ^ave this man, thoujih I eouUl spare 
So much hut inconveniently :— Vc smile, 
I sec ye, ye profane ones ! all the while, 
B(H'ause my homely phrase the truth would tell. 
Yon are the fools, n(jt 1 — for I did dwell 
'With a deep thou^lit, and with a softi'u'd eye, 
C)u that old Sexton's natural homilv. 
In wliieh (here was l)hscurity and Vame, — 
The (I'lory and the >Jotliiny of a Name. 
DlODATI, ISIU." 



TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEIiD. 

Few years have pass'd since thou and I 
Wci-e fii'mest friends, at least in name, 

And childhood's j;ny sincerity 

Preserved our feeliu;is lon<i; the same. 

I}ut now, like me, too well thou know'st 
What trilles oft the heart recall; 

And those who once have loved the most 
Too soon forjjet they loved at all. 

And such the chantrc the heart displaj-s, 
So frail is early frienilship's reii;'u, 

A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's, 
Will view thy mind estranged aj,Min. 

If so, it never shall be mine 
To mourn the loss of such a heart ; 

The fault was Nature's fault, not thine, 
Which made thee tickle as thou art. 

As rolls the ocean's ehanginjj tide, 
So human fcelinu's ebb and flow; 

And who would in a breast contide 
Where stormy passions ever glow ! 

It hoots not that, together brcil, 

Our childish days were days of joy : 

My sitring of life has quickly tied ; 
^riion, loo, liast ceased to be a boy. 

And when we hid adieu to youth. 

Slaves to the specious worhl's control, 

We sigh a long farewell to truth; 
That >vorld corrupts the noblest soul. 



MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 521 

Ah, joyous season ! when the mind 

Dares all things boldly i)iit to lie; 
"When thought ere spoke is unc-ontincd. 

And sjjarkles in the placid eye. 

Not so in Man's maturer years, 

When Man hinisell' is hut a tool; 
When interest sways our hopes ancl fears, 

And all must love and hate l)y rule. 

With fools in kindred vice the same. 
We learn at length our faults to blend; 

And those, and those alone, may claim 
The prostituted name of friend. 

Such is the common lot of man : 

Can we then 'scape from ibll^' free ? 
Can we reverse the general ])lan. 

Nor be what all in turn must l)c ? 

No ; foi- myself, so dark my fate 

Through every turn of life hath been, 
Man and the world I so much hate, 

1 care not wlien 1 quit the scene. 

But thou, with spirit fi-ail and light, 

Wilt shine awhile, and pass away; 
As glow-worms sparkle tlirough the night, 

But dare not stand tlio test of day. 

Alas ! whenever folly calls 

Where pai-asites and princes meet, 
(For chcrish'd first in royal halls. 

The welcome vices kindly greet,) 

E'en now thou 'rt nightly seen to add 

One insect to the Huttering crowd; 
And still thy trilling heart is glad 

To join the vain, and court the proud. 

There dost lliou glide from fair to fair. 

Still simpering on with eager haste, 
As flies along tlie gay parterre 

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. 

But say, what nymph will prize the llamc 

Whicli seems, as marshy vapors move. 
To flit along from dame to dame. 

An ignis-fatuus gleam of love ? 

Wliat friend for thee, howc'er inclined, 

Will deign to own a kinihrd care ? 
Who will debase his manly mind. 

For friendship every fool m;iy share ? 

In time forbear ; amidst the throng 

No more so base u thing be seen ; 
No more so itlly pass along : 

Be something, anything, but — mean. 
1808. 



522 ArrSCELLAXEOUS rOEMS. 



INSCRIPTTON OTS Till': ISIONUMENT OF A 
Ni;\VK(>llNl)L.\NI) DOG. 

WiiTN soiiu> ]>r(>ii(l S(ii\ of \\\t\\\ ivtiiriis to cnrth, 
Ihiknowii to ^iory, liiit iii>lu'l(l l>v hirlli, 
'J'lic siMilplor's iirl i'\li;iMsts Itio i'iiiii|i ol' woe, 
And stoni'il nnis ri'coril wlio rests below; 
AN'lieti nil is (lone, iii'oii tlio toiiil) is seen, 
"Not wliiit lie was, hut wlial lie siioiiM have hecn : 
lint the i'ooimIoi;', in lite the tii'iiiest iVii'iul, 
TIk- lirst to weleome, I'oreniost to ilel'eml, 
^^'ilose hoiu'sl heart is still his master's own, 
Who labors, lights, lives, breathes for him alone, 
IhihonorM Talis, iiniiolieetl all his worth, 
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth : 
\\'liile man. vain insect ! hopes to be l"or;:iven, 
And elaims hiinsell" a sole exelnsive heaven. 
Oh man! Ihon I'eeble tenant of an hour, 
Oebascd by slavery, tn- eorriipl by jiower, 
AN' ho knows thee well must (|nit thee with disjinist, 
Deu'i'iided mass ol" animated diisl ! 
Thy love is lust, thy l'rieiidshi|) all a cheat, 
Thy smiles hyiioerisy, thy words deceit ! 
l>y iialnre vile, ennol>led but by name, 
I'laeli kindred lirnte miulil iiid thee blush for shiiiuo. 
Ye! who perehanee behold this simple urn, 
I'ass on — it honors none yon wish ti> inonrn : 
To mark a friend's remains these stones aritsc; 
1 never knew but oii(>, -aiul here lie lies. 
Newstead Aubky, Sovcmbcr ;?0, 1808. 



TO TBIE. 

Timk! ou whose arbitrary win;; 

The varyinu' hours must tlai;' or fly, 
AVhos<< lardy winter, lleetinu' sprinj/, 

Ihit drai; or drive ns on to die — 

Hail Ihon ! who on inv birth beslowM 

Those boons to all lliat know thee known; 

Yet bi'tler I snsiaiu thy load. 

For now 1 lu'ar the weii^hl alone. 

I would not one fond heart should share 
Till' bitter moments tlu>ii has] ^liven ; 

And pardon thee, since tlioii eoiddst spare 
All that I loved, to (leaee or heaven. 

To them be jov oi' rest, on mo 

Thy t'liinre ills shall I'ress in viiiu ; 

1 notiiini;- owe but yi-ars to tlieo, 
A debt already \)aid in pain. 



MISCFJJ^ANEOUS POEMS. 523 

Yd ('V<'n llinl |iiiiii was woiiic relief; 

II lel(, hill slill ror;4ol, (liy power: 
'J'lie iirtivc n^oiiy of fii'iel' 

UedmlH, l)ut, never i'oiiiiIh I he hour. 

In joy I've sijfhM (o thiiiU lh\ lli;;hl 
Wuiihl soon siihside IVoiii swil'l lo slow, 

Thy cloud eoiild overeiisl lh(^ li^'hl, 
Kilt could not iidd ii iii;^'lil lo woe; 

I'or lliei), liowrvtn- droiir mid diirk 

My soul wiis suiled lo Ihy sUy, 
One slur alone sliol I'orlh a, spark 

To prove Ihee iiol I'ileriiily. 

Thai heani halli sunk, and now Ihou art 

A hliiiik ; a Ihiii^- lo eoiiiil and curse, 
'l"lirou;;li ciii'ii dull tedious Irillin;^- part, 

Which all re^rel, yc^l all rehearse. 

One secncM'von thou cinsl not deform; 

The liniil of thy slolh nv speed 
When I'liliire wandci'ers hear Ihe sloriii 

Which we shall sleep loo sound to hectl : 

And I can smile (o (hink how weak 

'I'hine ellbrls shortly shall he shown, 
When all the vengeance Ihou eiinst wrciik 

Must fall upon a nameluHS istunu. 



LINKS INSCMMIUH) I'l'ON A CUl' I'OKMKI) I'HOM A 
WIvlILL. 

iStaut nol -norde(;in niv spirit lied: 

III me hchold II Illy 'skull, 

]'^'oiii which, unlike a liviii;^ head, 

Whatever Hows is never dull, 

I lived, I loved, I quairM, like Ihco: 
I died : let earth my hones rcsi;;n : 

Fill up — Ihou canst not iiiiiire me; 
The worm hath fouler lips than thiiio. 

I5(;ttor to hold tin; sparklinj,'' crupe, 

Than nurse llu- earth-worin's slimy hrooilj 

And circle in the ti'ohlet's shape- 
The drink of ;;()ds, thiin reptile's food. 

Where; once my wit, perehaiic(!, hath sholio, 

In aid of others' let nie shine; 
And when, alas! our hrains arc tfi'^S 

What nohlcT substitute than wine ? 

Qmiir while (lion ennst: another raro. 
When Ihou and thine, like me, nre sped, 

May rescue thee from earth's enihrace, 
And rhyme and revel with the dead. 



524 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 

M'liv not — since tliron^h lilV's litlk' da}-- 

O'nr lu'M.l-^ sncli s;nl iMl'iTts ).n)(lufe ? 
Roili'i'inM I'l'Dni wonns and wasiin;;- clay, 
This chance is theirs, to be of use. 
Newsteao Abhky, 1808. 



PROMETHEUS. 

Titan ! to whose immortal eyes 

The sntlerinji's of mortality, 

Seen in their sad reality, 
Were not as thini^s that uods despise; 
What was thy i^iiy's reeonipense ? 
A silent snll'crinu', and intense; 
The rock, the vnlturc, and the chain. 
All thai the jirond I'an led of pain, 
The aL:oiiy tlicy do not show 
The siillocatinu' sense of woe, 

Whii'li speaks hnt in its loneliness, 
And then is jealous lest the sky 
Should have a listener, nor will sig'h 

ll^ntil its voice is echolcss. 
Titan! to thee the strife was j;iven 

lletwcen the sutVcrinLT and tjxe will, 

A\'hich torture where they cannot kill; 
And the inexorable Heaven, 
And the deaf tyranny of l-^ate. 
The rulini:' prini'iplc of Hate, 
^^■hicb for its pU-asure doth create 
The tliiuLis ii may anuihilale. 
Refused thee even the boon to die; 
The wretched yift eternity 
Was thi\ic — and thou hast borne it well. 
All that the Thnndcrci' wnuii:- from thoo 
Was but the menace whicii lliiui;' hack 
On him the torments of tiiv rack; 
Tlu- fate thou .lidst so well" foresee, 
l?ut would not to aiipease liim tell; 
And in thy Silence was his Seulcnee, 
And in his Soul a vain repentance. 
And evil dread so ill dissenililed, 
That iu his hand the hghtninys treiuhlod. 

Thv Godlike crime was to be kind, 

To render with thy precept less 

The sum of human wretchedness, 
And strengthen >[au with his own miud; 
Hut baffled as thou wert from high, 
Still iu tin- patient energy. 
In the endurance, and repulse 

Of thine impcncti-able Sjiirit, 
Which Earth and Heaven could not couvulse. 

A mighty lesson we inherit: 
Thou art a syndml and a sign 

To ^Mortal's of their fate and force ; 



MISCELLAXEOrS POEMS. 525 

Like thoc, Man is in part divine, 

A troiil)l('il stroani iVoni a inire soiirco} 

And Man in )ioilinn^ can TDrescc 

His (ivvn rniicrcal ilrsiiny ; 

His wictclicdni'ss, iind his resistance, 

A. id liis sad luiMllii'd existence : 

To wliieli Ills Spirit may (ijiposc 

Itsell' — and eiiual to all woes, 

And a, (irn! will, and a deep sense, 

A\'lueli even in tortnre can descry 
Its own concentred recompense, 

'ri'iunipliani wlu'ic it iliires del'y, 

And makin;;' Dt'alli a \'ictory! 
DlODATl, Jllli/, iNlti. 

TJNES Wr.ITTKX IN TIIK TUAVELLEU.S' BOOK AT 
OKCIIOMICNUS. 

IN THIS noOK A TKAVKLLHH HAD M'UITTEN :— 

" !'"Ailt Alliidti, smiliiiK, sees tier sun dcpiirt, 
Til trace tlic l>irtli jiiiit iiin'scry of art: 
Ncilili- Ills olijt'i't, Klorlous Is Ills aim; 
Ik' (,'i)inc8 to Athens, ami lii' writes Ills name I" 

BENEATH WIIUH LORD HYKON INSEUTEO TIIK FOLLOWING :— 

The modest bard, like mtiny ti liard unknown, 
llliymes on our names, hut wisely hides his own; 
But yet, whoe'er he he, to say no worse. 
His name would hrin<r more credit llian his verse. 



LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM, AT MALTA. 

As o'er tlic cold sepulchral stone 

Some name arri'sts the ptisser-hy; 
Thus, when thou view'st this pa^c alone, 

May mine attract tliy pensive eye! 

And when hj' tliee tliat name is retui, 

rerclianee in some siiceeedinji year, 
Ketleet on me as on the dead, 

i\iid think niv heart is liiiried here. 
Svptcmbe) 14, 18()!>. [ 

WRITTEN AFTER SWIMISIINO FROM SESTOS TO 
ABYDOS.* 

Ik, in the month of dark December, 

licaiider, who was nii^iitly wont 
(What maid will not the tale rcniemher ?) 

To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! 

• Oil llie na of :\lnv, ISIO, while the " .Snlsette" (Captnlii IJnthiirst) was IvIiiK 
111 tlie Danlaiicllcs, I.ieiitciiaiit KUeiiticail of tliat frivaleaiul the writer of tlicso 
rliviiics swam tVom llu^ ICiii-opcaii shore to the Aslalic— liv the liy, from Aliydos 
loSestos would liave lii'cii more eorrect. 'I'he whole dislaiiee iV<im the plaro 
whence we started to our landing' on llu^ oilier side, iiiehidlii« the leiit;th we were 
carried hv the current, was computed In- those on lioard the fri||,'ate at upwards 



520 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

If, when the wintry tempest rorirM, 
IK' sped to Hero', notliiuLi- loMtli, 

And lliiis of old tliy ciinvnt jJOiirM, 
Fair Venus ! how I pity both ! 

For mo, deijeneratc modern wreteh, 
Thou;i'h in the <;enial month of May, 

My drippinji' linihs I faintly streteh, 
And think I've done a feat to-day. 

But sineo he cross'd the rapid tide, 
Aeeordinj:: to the doul)tful story, 

To woo — and — Lord knows what beside, 
And swam for Love, as I for (J lory ; 

'Twerc hard to say who fared the host : 

(Sad mortals! thus the .^'ods still plaj,nie you! 
He lost his labor, I my jest ; 

For he was drowu'il, and I've the aj;'uc. 
Mat/ 9, 1810. 



TRAXSLATION OF THE FAMOUS GREEK WAR SONG 

" Sfi'Ti 7r«r(5fj rujc ' E^Xi'ivu))'." * 

Sons of the Greeks, arise ! — 

The fi'lorious hour's {i'onc forth, 
And, worthy of such ties, 

Display who gave us birth. 

CHORUS. 

Sons of Greeks ! let us go 
In arms against the foe. 
Till theii haled blood shall How 
In a river past oiu' feel. 

Then manfullv despising 

The Turkish tyrant's yoke. 
Let your eountry see you rising, 

And all her chains are broke. 

.)f four Enpllsh mllos; though the nctnal bronilth Is hnroly ono. The rapidity of 
tho ciuTont is such thnt no tjoat ciui nav ilirct'tly iicmss, and it may, in some 
inoasiuv, lie ostimati'd trom llio (■ifcmnstaiii'f of tho wlmli' disiaiicoliciiit: iie- 
t'lmipllshod liy oiii' (it the partirs in an licmr and live, and liv tlic oIliiT in an hmir 
and ten niinnti's. 'I'lic wali'i- was oxtri'mcly colil, tVoni tlic nu'ltin^'ol'tlio iiioini- 
tain snows Ahont lln-t'c wi'ol\s lii't'circ, in April, we liad made an attempt; Init 
liaviin; ridden all the way t'rciin the 'I'road the same mortiiiif;, and the water 
heinu ot' an icy ehillness, we loinid it neeessary to i>iistpoiie the eoi'.iiiletion till 
the IViuale anehorcd below the eastles, when we swam the straits, as Jnst stated; 
eiitorliiK !i emisiderahle way ahove the European, and landing helow the Asiatic 
liii-t. Chevalier says that a yonni;' .lew swam the saiui' distanee for his mistress; 
and Oliver mentions its havinf.' been done bv a Neapiditan ; but oin- eonsnl, Tar- 
ragona, remembered neither ot" these eirenmstanees, ami tried to dissnado us 
from the attempt. .\ nnmlierof the "Salsette's" erew were known to have ae- 
eomplished a greater dislanee; and the only ihiliK that stu-prised me was, that, 
as doubts had been entertained of the trntli of Leaiider's story, no traveller had 
over endeavored to aseertain its praetieabUity. 

• The sonu' was writti'ii by l{ii;a, who peris'lied in the attempt to revolutionize 
Greece, i'his traiislatiiai is as literal as tin' author coidd make it in verse, tt is 
"f the same moasuro as that of the oriKinal. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 527 

Brave shades of chiefs and sages, 

Behold the coniiiij,' strife ! 
Ilelloncs of past a<,'-es, 

Oh, start ajjain to life ! 
At the sound of my trumpet, breaking 

Your sleep, oh, join with nie ! 
And the scven-liiU'd city seeking,* 

Fight, conquer, till we're free. 

Sons of (irceks, «fec. 
Sparta, Sparta, why in slumbers 

Letliargic dost thou lie ? 
Awake, and join thy numbers 

Witli Athens, old ally ! 
Leonidas recalling. 

That chief of ancient song, 
Who saved ye once from falling, 

The terrible! tlic stroni;-! 
Who made that bold diversion 

In old Thermopyla', 
And warring with the Persian 

To keep his country free; 
With his three hundred waging 

The battle, long he stood, 
And like a lion raging. 

Expired in seas of blood. 

Sons of Greeks, &c. 



THE SPELL IS BROKE, THE CHARM IS FLOWN^ 

WRITTEN AT ATHENS, JANUARY 16, 1810. 

The spell is bioke, the charm is tlown ! 

Thus is it with life's fitful fever: 
We madly smile when we should groan; 

Delirium is our best deceiver. 
Each lucid interval of thought 

Recalls the woes of Nature's charter, 
Anil he that acts as wise men ought. 

But lives, as saints have died, a martyr. 



STANZAS 

WRITTEN ON PASSINW THE AMBRACIAN GULF.f 

TnROUOn cloudless skies, in silvery sheen, 
Full beams the moon on Actinm's coast; 
And on these waves, for Egvpt's cpieen. 
The ancient world was won and lost. 
• Constantinople. 

t The lady relcrrod to in this and the two followins piocos— the wife of Mr 
Spencer Smith, and daughter of IJaron Herbert, Austrian amljassador at Con- 
stantinople, where slie was born— was a vcrv romarkahlc p< rsnn and experi- 
enced a variety of strikiiiR adventures. Sliewas uiiliappy in licr uiarriaL'o, yet 
ot iiniilcniislied ivpntation; had en^'ased in some plots acrainst Bonaparte, 
iMiuMi cMitcd his vciitri'.iMce; was made prisoner, but subsequently escaped; 
attiTwards siillcri'd sliipwreck— and all before she was -Jo years of atte. The 
poet met her at Malta, on lier way to England to join her husband; and these 
poems, and a reference to her in " Childe Harold," are memorials of their brief 
acquaintance. 



52H MISCELL.INEOUS POEMS. 

Aiul now ii]ion tlie sceiio I look, 
Tlio aziiit.' uiJivf oC iiiMiiy a Roman; 

Wlieii' stiTii Aiiiliition oiico forsook 
His wavering crown to follow womau. 

Florence ! whom I will love as well 
As ever yet was saiil oi- sunir, 

(Since Orpheus saiiir his spouse from lioll) 
Whilst thou art fair and I am young ; 

Sweet Florence ! those were pleasant times, 
M'hen worlds were staked lor ladies' eyes: 

Had bards as many realms as rlivmes. 
Thy charms might raise new Autonies. 

Though Fate forhids such things to lie, 
Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets eurl'd! 

I cannot I0--0 a world lor thee. 

Hut would uot lose thee for a world. 
Noi'ember 14, 180!). 



TO FLORF>XCE. 

Lady ! when I left the shore, ^ 

Tlie distant shore wiiieii gave me birth, 

1 hardly thought to grieve once more, 
To qiiit another spot on earth : 

Yet here, amidst this barren isle. 

Where panting Nature droop-^ the head. 

Where only thou art seen to smile, 
I view my parting hour witli dread. 

Though far from Albin's cniggv shore, 

Divided by the dark blue main; 
A few brief, rolling seasons o'er, 

PeiThance I view her clitfs again : 

But wheresoe'er T now may roam. 

Through scorching clime, and varied sea, 

Though Time restore me to my home, 
1 ne'er shall bend mine eyes on tlieo : 

On thee, in whom at once conspire 

All charms, which heedless hearts can move, 
Whom but to see is to admire, 

And, oh ! forgive the word — to love. 

Forgive the word, in one who ne'er 
With such a word can more otl'end; 

And since tl\y heart I cannot sl\are, 
Believe me, what 1 am, thy friend. 

And who so cold as look on thee. 
Thou lovely wauilcrer, and be less? 

Nor be, what man should ever be, 
The friend of l?eautv in distress ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 52!) 

Ah ! who would think that form liad ])ass'(l 
Throiii^di Danjicr's most ilcstriictivc path, 

Had bravod thi; death-win^i'd tciiiin'st's blast, 
And 'scapcil a tyrant's fiercer wratii ? 

Lady! when I siiall view the walls 
W liere i'ree Hyzantiuni oiiec arose. 

And Stanil)()ul'H()riciital hidls 

The Turkish tyrant's now enclose; 

Thonjih nii;^htiest in the lists of fame 

That j^loi-jous cily still shall he; 
On nie 'I will hold a dearer claim, 

As sjiot of Ihy nativity; 

And tiionirh I bid thee now farewell. 
When I behold that wondrons scene, 

Since wiiere thou ai-t I may not dwell, 
'Twill soothe to he, where thou hast been. 
September, 1809. 

STANZAS 

COMPOSED DUBINO A TJIUNDKU-HTOKM, AND WHILE I5ICWI' '^EUUn 
NEAK MOUNT l'INl>U.S IN ALItANIA. 

Chill and mnrk is the iii^-'hlly blast, 

Where Pindus' mountains rise, 
And aufiiy (ilouds are jiourinfi' fast 

The vengeance of the skies. 

Our fjuides arc ffonc, our hope is lost. 

And li;ilitninirs, .'is they play, 
But show where rocks our path have crest, 

Or gild the torrent's spray. 

Is yon a cot I saw, thouf;h hjw ? 

When li^jhtninj;' broke; tiic ^loom — 
How welcome were its shade! — ah, no! 

'Tis but a Turkish tomb. 

Throuffh sounds of I'oamin;^ waterfalls, 

I hear a voice; exclaim— 
My way-worn eounlryman, who calls 

On distant Englaiul's name. 

A shot is fired — by foe or friend ? 

Another — 'tis to tell 
The mountain-peasants to descend, 

And lead us where they dwell. 

Oh! who in such a n\\r.\\t will dare 

To tempt the wilderness ? 
And who 'mid tliunder-i)eals can hear 

Our si<rnal of distress ? 

And who that lieard our shouts would rise, 

To try tiie dubious road ? 
Nor rather (U'em from nif;hlly cries 
That outlaws were abroad. 
34 



530 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreatlful hour ! 

More fiercely pours the storm ! 
Yet here one thought has still the power 

To keep my bosom warm. 

While wandering through each broken path 
O'er brake and craggy brow; 

While elements exhaust their wrath, 
Sweet Florence, where art thou ? 

Not on the sea, not on the sea. 
Thy Inirk hath long been gone : 

Oh, may the storm that pours on me 
Bow tlowu my head alone ! 

Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc, 
When last I prcss'd thy lip; 

And long ere now, with ibamiug shock, 
Impell'd thy gallant ship. 

Now thou art safe ; nay, long ere now 
Hast trotl the shore of Spain ; 

'Twcru hard if aught so fair as thou 
Should linger ou the main. 

And since I now remember thee — ^ 

In darkness and in dread, 
As in those hours of revelry 

Whicli mirth and music sped ; 

Do thou, amid the fair white walls, 

If Cadiz yet be free, 
At times, from out her latticed halls, 

Look o'er the dark blue sea ; 

Then think upon Calypso's isles, 
Endear'd by days gone by; 

To others give a thousand smiles, 
To me a single sigh. 

And when the admiring circle mark 

The paleness of thy face, 
A half-form'd tear, a transient spark 

Of melancholy grace. 

Again thou'lt smile, and blushing shun 

Some coxcomb's raillery ; 
Nor own for once thou thought' st on one. 

Who ever thinks on tliee. 

Though smile and sigh alike are vain, 
When sevcr'd hearts repine. 

My spirit flies o'er mount and main, 
Aud moui'us in seai'ch of thine. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 531 

ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS TlIE "ORIGIN 
OF LOVE." 
The "Orij^in of Love ! " — Ah, why 

That cruel question ask of me, 
When thou may'st road in many an eye 
He starts to life on seeing thee ? 

And shouldst thou seek his end to know : 
My heart forebodes, my fears foresee, 

He'll lin^^'cr long in silent woe; 
But live — until I cease to be. 



IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEMD. 

When, from the heart where Sorrow sits. 

Her dusky shadow mounts too high. 
And >''cr the chsinging aspect flits, 

AnU clouds the brow, or fdls tlie eye; 
Heed n(,' that gloom, which soon shall sink: 

]My iho.iglits their dungeon know too well- 
Back to \\\y breast the wanderers shrink 

And droop within their siloiit cell. 
September, 1813. 

TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 

Absent or present, still to thee, 

iSIy friend, what magic spells belong! 

As all can tell, who share, like me, 
lu turn thy converse, and thy song. 

But when the dreaded hour shall come, 
By Friendship ever decm'd too nigh. 

And '' Memouy " o'er her Druid's tomb 
Shall weep that aught of thee can die, 

How fondly will she then repay 
Tliv homage oticr'd at her shrine, 
• And l)lcnd, while ages roll awa)-, 

Iler name immortally with thine! 
April 19, 1812. 

CONDOLATORY ADDRESS 

TO SAKAH, COrNTESS OF JERSEY, ON THE I'RINCE KEGENT'S 
RETURNING IlER TICTURE TO MRS. MEE. 

When the vain triumph of the imperial lord, 
Whom servile Rome obcy'd, and yet abhor.-'d, 
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust. 
That left a likeness of the brave, or just ; 
What most admired each scrutinizing eye 
Of all that deck'd that passing pageantry ? 
What spread from face to face that wondering air? 
The thought of Brutus — for his was not there ! 
That absence proved his worth, — that absence fix'd 
His memory ou the lunging miml, uumix'd ; 



532 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And more decreed his g'lory to endure 
Than all a gold Colossus could secure. 

II' thus, lair Jersey, our desiriui; gaze 
Search for thy form, in vain and nuite amaze, 
Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness, 
Bri;ihl though they he, thine own had render'd less: 
If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits 
Heir of his fathei-'s crown, and of his wits, 
If his corrupted eye, and wither'd heart, 
Could with thy gentle image hear depart; 
That tasteless shame he /lis, aiul ours tlie grief 
To gaze on IJeauty's hand without its chief: 
Yet comfort still oiu^ seltish thought imparts, 
"W'e lose the portrait, l)ut preserve our hearts. 

What can his vaulted gallery now disclose ? 
A garden with all tlowers— except the rose; — 
A fount that only wants its living stream; — 
A night, with every star, save liian's hcam. 
Lost to our eyes the |)resent forms shall ho, 
That turn from tracing them to dream of tliee; 
And more on that recail'd rescmlilanci" pause. 
Than all he s/ia/l not force on oiu- applause. 

Ijong may thy yet mei'idian lustre shine, 
With all tliat Virtiu^ asks of Homage thiuo : 
The symmetry of youth — the grace of liTien — 
The eye that ghuldens— and tlie hrow serene; 
The glossy darkness of that clusioring hair, 
Wiiicli shades, yet shows that foielu-ad more than fair! 
Each glance that wins us, and the life that throws 
A spell which will not let our looks repose. 
But turn to gaze again, and (iiul anew 
Some charm that well rewards another view. 
These are not lessen'd, ihcso are still as bright, 
AllK'it too ilazzliug for a dotard's sight ; 
Alul those must wait till every charm is gone. 
To please the paltry heart that pleases none : — 
That iluU cold sensiudist, whose sickly eye 
In envious dimness pass'd thy portrait hv ; 
Who rack'd his little spirit to combine 
Its hate of Freedom's loveliness, and thim. 
Augiat, ISU. 

STANZAS TO A LADY OX LEAVING ENGLA^ND.* 

'Tis done — and shivering in the gale 
The hark unfurls her snowy sail ; 
.Vnd whistling o'er the bending mast, 
Louil sings on high the freshening blast; 
And I must from this laiul be gouc, 
Because I cannot love but one. 

But could I be Avhat I have been, 
And could I see what 1 have seen^ 
Could I repose upon the breast 

* Mrs. Musters, fornioilv Miu-y Chaworth. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 533 

AVhich once my warmest wishes blest— 
I sliotild not seek jinotlicr zone 
Because I cannot love but one. 

'Tis lonfT since I beheld that eye 
Which jrave me bliss or niiscrVi 
And I have striven, but in vai'n, 
Never to think of it a-^-ain; 
For thou<;h I Hv from Albion, 
I still can only love but one. 

As some lone liird, without a mate, 
ISIy weary iicart is desolate; 
I look around, and cannot trace 
One friendly smile, or welcome face, 
And even in crowds am still alone, 
Because I cannot love but one. 

And I will cross the whiteninj,' foam, 
And I wdl seek a forcij;n home; 
Tdl 1 ibrj^et a false fair face, 
I ne'er shall find a restinji'-iilace; 
My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, 
But ever love, and love but one. 

Tlie poorest, veriest wretch on earth 
.Stdl iiiids sonu' hospitable hearth. 
Where Fricndsln'p's or Love's softer fjlow 
May siniie 111 joy or soothe in woe; 
But friend or lover I liave none, 
Because I cannot love but one. 

I ffo — but whoresoc'cr I ilce. 
There 's not an eye will weep for me; 
There's not a kind conirenial heart. 
Where I can claim the meanest part ; 
Nor thou, who hast mv hopes undotie, 
W lit sijih, although I love hut one. 

To think of every early scene. 

Of what we are, and Avhat we've been 

Would whelm some softer hearts with' woe— 

But nnne, alas! has stood the blow; 

let still beats on as it bej^un, 

And never truly loves biit one. 

And who that dear loved one may be 
Is not for vul^i'ar eyes to see. 
And why that early love was crost 
Thou kuow'st the best, I feel the most; 
But lew that dwell beneath the sun 
Have loved so long, and loved but one. 

I've tried another's fetters too. 
With charms perchance as fair to view 
And I would fain have loved as well, ' 
But some uiicon((ui'rable spell 
Forbade my bleed inj,'' breast to r)wn 
A kindred care for auLiht but one. 



534 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

'Twoukl soothe to take one lingering view, 
And bless thee in ray last adieu ; 
Yet wish I not those eyes to weep 
For him that wanders o'er the deep ; 
Though whcrcsoe'cr my bark may run, 
I love but thee, 1 love but one. 
1S09. 



THE FAEEWELL. 

TO A LADY. 

When Man, expell'd from Eden's bowers, 
A moment linger'd near the gate, 

Each scene rccall'd the vanish'd hours. 
And bade him curse his future fate. 

But, wandering on through distant climes. 
He learnt to l)ear his load of grief; 

Just gave a sigh to other times. 
And found in busier scenes relief. 

Thus, lady ! will it be with me. 

And I liuist view thy charms no more; 

For, whilst I linger near to thee, 
I sigh for all I knew before. - — 

In flight I shall be surely Avise, 
Escaping fruni temptation's snare; 

I cannot view my paradise 
Without a wish to enter there. 



December 2, IbOS. 



WHEN WE TWO PARTED. 

When we two parted 

In silence and tears. 
Half l)roken-hearted. 

To sever for years. 
Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 

Colder thy kiss ; 
Truly that hour foretold 

Sorrow to this. 

The dew of the morning 

Sunk chill on my brow — 
It felt like the warning 

Of what I feci now. 
Thy vows are all broken. 

And light is thy fame ; 
I hear thy name spoken. 

And share in its shame. 

They name thee before me, 
A knell to mine ear ; 

A shudder comes o'er me — 
Why wert thou so dear ? 



1808. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 535 

They know not I knew thee, 

Wlio knew thee too well : — 
Lonr;', long sliall I rue thee, 

Too deeply to tell. 

In secret we met — 

In silence I jjri'ieve, 
That thy heart could forget. 

Thy spirit deceive. 
If I should meet thee 

After \owf years, 
How should I greet thee ? — 

With silence and tears. 



LINES TO A LADY WEEPING.* 

Weep, daughter of a royal lino, 

A sire's disgrace, a realm's decay ; 
Ah! happy if each tear of thine 

Could wash a fiither's fault away ! 
Weep — for thy tears are Virtue's teal's — 

Auspicious to these suffering isles; 
And he each drop in future years 

Repaid thee by thy people's smiles 1 
Marchy 1812. 



WINDSOR POETICS. 

Lines coinposod on the occasion of his Knyal HiKluiess the Prince Regent beiiiff 
seen staiuliiifi between the coffins of Henry VUI. and Charles I., in the royal 
vault at AVindsor. 

Famed for contemptuous breach of sacred ties. 
By headless Charles here heartless Henry lies ; 
Between them stands another sceptred thing- 
It moves, it reigns — in all but name, a king: 
Charles to his people, Ilcnry to his wife, 
— In him the double tyrant starts to life : 
Justice and death have mix'd their dust in vain. 
Each royal vampire wakes to life again. 
Ah, what can tombs avail ! — since these disgorge 
The blood and dust of both — to mould a George. 



ELEGIAC STANZAS 

ON THE DEATH OF SIR PETER PARKER, BAST. 

There is a tear for all that die, 

A mourner o'er the humblest grave ; 

But naaons swell the funeral crj-. 

And Triumph weeps above the brave. 

* The Princess Charlotte. 



536 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

For them is Sorrow's purest si<zh 
O'er Occnn's heaving'' bosom sent : 

In vain their hones unburied lie, 
All earth beeonies their monument! 

A tomb is theirs on every paije, 
An epitaph on every tonunic : 

The pre-^ent lionrs, tlie future a^z'e, 
For tlieni bewail, to them belong. 

For them tlio voiee of festal mirth 

Grows hush'd, f/tcii- mime the only sound; 

While deep lienieinbranee pours toNVorth 
The gobletVi tributary round. 

A theme to crowds that knew them not, 
I^aniented by aibniring foes, 

Wlu) would not sbare iheir glorious lot ? 
Who would not die the death they chose ? 

And, gallant Parker ! thus enshrined 

Thy life, thy fall, thy fame shall be; 
Antl early valor, glowing, liud 
A model in tliy memory. 

But there are breasts that bleed wifE^thec 
In woe, that glory cannot quell; 

And sluuidering hear of victory, 

Where one so dear, so dauntless, fell. 

Where shall they turn to mourn thee less ? 

When cease to hear thy cherish'd name ? 
Time cannot teach forgetfulness. 

While Ciriefs full heart is fed by Fame. 

Alas', for tlu>ni, Ibough not for thee, 

They cannot choose but wcc)! the more; 

Deep for tlic dead the grief must be, 
Who ne'er i^ave cause to mourn before. 



A FRAGMENT. 

CorT.n I remount tl\e river of my years. 
To the fu'st fountain of our smiles ;ind tears, 
I would not trace again the stream of hours 
15ct ween their outworn banks of wither'd HowerSj 
But bid it How as now — until it glides 
Into the number of the nameless tides. . . . 

What is this Death ?— a quiet of the heart ? 
The whole of that of which we are a part ? 
For life is but a \isiou — what I see 
Of all which lives alone is life to me, 
And being so — the absent are the dead. 
Will) liaunt us from trancinillity, and spread 
A dreary shroud around us, and invest 
With sad remembrancers our hours of rest. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 537 

Tho absent arc the (lead, for fhoy are cold, 
And \\c\-v can In; what once; wc did behold; 
And II1CV arc chaM;,fcd, and cheerless, — or if yet 
The unl'iiruottcn do not all lbr;i-et, 
Since thus divided — e(|Mal must it bo 
If the ileep l)arrit'r i)e of earth, or sea; 
It may be both — l)nt one daj^ end it must, 
In the dark union of insensate dust. 

Tlie iinder-earth inhabit;ints — arc they 
But niin;iled millions decomposed to clay ? 
The aslies of a, thousand ii.j^'cs s|)rca,d 
Wiiercver man has tro Idcu or shall (road ? 
Or do they in their siliuit cities dwell 
Each in his incommunic^ative cell ? 
Or have they their own lan<i'mijre ? and a sense 
Of l)reathless beinii' ? — darkcn'd and intense 
As inidni;4ht in her solitude ? — ( > Ivirlii ! 
AVheri" are the |iast r — and wherefore had they birth ? 
Tiie dead are tliy inheritors — and we 
I?ut l>uhl)les on thy surlace; and the key 
Of thy profundity is in the ^ravc, 
The eliou portal of thy |)eoplcd cave. 
Where I would walk in spirit, and beiiohl 
Our elcnuMits resolved to tiiioLiS untold, 
An<l fathom hidden wonders, and explore 
The essence of yreat bosoms now no more. . . . 
DiODATi, Jul!/, 1*^16. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

" O Lndirymiiriim tons, toiioro siirrns 
DiK'Ciitiinii (irtiis ex iiiiiiuo: ([iiatcr 
Folix ! ill iiiiii qui si'ati'iitcin 
I'cctoru tf, pill Nyiiiplia, scnsit." 

GuAV's Pocmata. 

TiiEKE*s not a joy the world can jrivc like that it takes away, 
When the {.''low of early thought dicliucs in feelinii''s dull decay; 
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek tiu; l)hish alone, which fades so fast, 
But the tender bloom of iicart is gone, ere youth itself be past. 

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness 
Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocesin of excess : 
The magnet of their coiu'se is gone, or only points in vain 
The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. 

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; 

It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not drea.m its own; 

That heavy cluU has froy.en o'er the fountain of our tears. 

And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. 

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, 
Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest, 
'Tis hut as ivy-leaves around tiic riiiu'd turret wreathe. 
All greeu and wildly-fresh without, but worn and gray beneath. 



538 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 

Oh ! could I fool as T have felt, — or be what T have been, 
Or WOO]) as 1 could oiico Iima'o wojit, o'er many a vaiiisli'd soone ; 
As spriufi's ill dosorls found sooiii swoot, all braokisli tliou.Li'li they be, 
So 'midst the wither'il waste of life, those tears would ilow to me. 
March, 1815. 

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN. 

A SONG. 

Fii.iy the pohlct affaiii ! for I never before 

J'\'lt the ^iow whioh now j^laddons my heart to its core; 

IjOt ns drink ! — who wonld not ? — sinee, through life's varied round, 

In the f^oblet alone no deoeption is found. 

I have tried in its turn all that life can snpjily : 

I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolliiiL;' eye; 

I have loved ! — who lias not ? — but what heart can declare, 

That (ileasure existed while passion was there ? 

In tlie days of my youth, when the heart 's in its spring, 
And dreams that aifeotion can never take wing, 
I had friends ! — who has not ? — but what tongue will avow 
That friends, rosy wine ! arc as faithful as thou ? 

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange, 
Friendship shifts with the snnbeain — thou never oanst change : 
Thou grow'sl old — who does not ? — but on eartli what appears, 
Whose virtues, like thine, still inereasc with its years ? 

Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow. 
Should a rival bow down to our idol below, 
We are jealous ! — who 's not ? — thou hast no such alloy ; 
For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. 

Thou the season of youth and its vanities past. 
For refuge we tly to the goblet at last; 
There we find — do we not ? — in the tlow of the soul, 
That truth, as of yore, is eonfiiied to the bowl. 

When the box of Pandora was opcn'd on earth. 
And Miserv's triumph oomnienoed over ^Mirth, 
Hope was left — was she not ? — l)ut the goblet we kiss, 
And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. 

Long life to the grape ! — for when summer is tlown. 
The age of our nectar shall gladden our own ; 
A\'e must die — who shall not ? — May our sins be forgiven, 
A nil Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. 



REMEMBER THEE! REMEMBER TIIEES 

Remembeu thee ! remember thee ! 

Till Lethe quench life's burning stream 
Remorse and shanie shall cling to thee. 

And haunt thee like a feverish dream! 

Remeniber thee ! Ay, doubt it not, 
Thy husbaiul too sball think of thee : 

By neither shalt thou be forgot, 
Tiiou falic to him, thou Jicnd to mc 1 



MJSCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 539 

ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN. 

Ill-fated Heart I ami can it he 

That, thou sliouldst thus he rent in twain ? 

Have years of cai-c i'or lhine and thcc 
Alike l)con all eniiiloy'd in vain ? 

Yet precious seems each shattcrM part, 

And every iVa^'nient dearer ifrown, 
Since he wlio wears tliec feels thou art 

A fitter eiuhlciu of his oion. 



MONODY 
ON THE DEATH OF THE RT. HON. R. B. SHERIDAN, 

SPOKEN AT DUUUY-LANE TIIEATKE. 

When the last sunshine of cvpirinp day 
In summer's twili;^ht weeps itself awav, 
Who iiMtii iiol felt tlie softness of (he hour 
Sink on liu' heart, as dew alon;.;- the llower ? 
W'hh a pure feclin;;- which absorbs aiul awes 
While Nature makes tliat melancholy pause, 
Her lireathin^- moment on tlie bridu'c where Time 
Of liuht and darkness forms an andi sublime, 
Who iialli not siiared that cmIih so still and deep, 
The voiceless tliou;:iit which would not speak hut WCCp, 
A holy concord— and a bright re;iTct, 
A^_S'h>rion-i sympathy with suns that set.' 
'Tis not harsii sorrow— but a tenderer woe. 
Nameless, but dear to ^a>ntle hearts below. 
Felt without bitterness— liut lull and clear, 
A sweet dejection — a transparent tear, 
Unmi\'d with worldly ^;rief or sellish stain. 
Shed without shame— and .secret without paiu. 

Even as the tenderness that hour instils 
When smnmer's day declines alonj,' the hills, 
So feels the fulness'of our heart and eyes. 
When all of (Jenius which can perish clics. 
A mighty Spirit is eclipsed — a Power 
Hath i)ass'd from day to darkness — to whose hour 
Of liyht no likeness is be(nieath'd— no name, 
Focus at once of all the ravs of Fame ! 
The Hash of Wit— the bri^dit Intellijrenec, 
The beam of Soni,''- the Itlazc of Eloquence, 
Set with their Sun— but still have left behincl 
The enduring' produce of immortal Mind; 
Fruits of a licnial moi'ii, aiul i;!orious noon, 
A deathless (tart of him who died too soon. 
But small that jwrtion of the wondrous whole, 
These sparklinj;- scfrments of that cirdinjr soul, 
Which all embraced — and li^diten'd over all. 
To cheer— to pierce— to please— or to aiipall. 



540 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

From the charmM counoil to the festive board, 

Of human lVoliiiL;< the luihomulcil lord; 

In whose aechiiin tlie lol'licst voices vied, 

The jn-aised — the proud — wlio made his )iraise their jnide 

AVheji the h)ud ery nf trani|iU'd llinchistau 

Arose to Heaven in her ai)i)eal from man. 

His was the thnnchn- — his the avonsinjl rod, 

The wrath— the delegated voiec of God ! 

Which sliook the nations through his hps — and hhizcd 

Till vanquish'd senates trembled as they praised. 

And here, oh ! here, where yet all young and warm, 
The gay creations of his spirit charm. 
The matchless dialogue — the deathless wit. 
Which knew not what it was to intermit ; 
The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring 
Home to our hearts the truth from which the.y spring; 
These womlnuis hein^i's of his Fancy, wrought 
To fulness by the fiat of liis tlionghf. 
Here in their first abode you still may meet. 
Bright witli the hues of his Promethean heat: 
A halo of the light of other days, 
Wliich still the splendor of its orb betrays. 

But should there be to whom the fatal Ijlight 
Of failing Wisdom yields a l)ase delight. 
Men who exult when miiuls of hoaveidy tone 
Jar in the music which was born their own, 
Still let them jiause — ah ! little do they know 
That what to tlieni seem'd Vice miglit be but Woe. 
Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze 
Is iix'd for ever to detract or praise ; 
Kepose denies her requiem to his name. 
And Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame. 
The secret enemy whose sleepless eye 
Stands sentinel— accuser— judge — and spy. 
The foe— the fool— the jealous— and the vain, 
Tiie envious who but breathe in others' pain, 
Beliold the liost ! delighting to deprave, 
Who track the stejis of glory to the grave, 
Watch every fault that daring Genius owes 
Half to the "ardor wliich its birth bestows, 
Distort the truth, accunuilate the lie. 
And pile the pyramid nf Cahimny! 
These are his portion — liut if juin'd to these 
Gaunt Poverty should league with ileep Disease, 
If the high Si^irit must forget to soar. 
And stoop to strive with Misery at the door, 
To soothe Indignity — and face to iace 
iMcet sordid Rage— and wrestle with Disgrace, 
To lind in Hope but the rencw'd caress. 
The serpent-fold of further Faithlessness: — 
If such may be the ills which men assail. 
What marvel if at last the mightiest fail ? 
Breasts to whom all the streni;th of feelin? given 
Bear hearts electric — charged with fire from heaven, 



MISCEIJ.ANEOVS POEMS. 541 

Blnck with the niilc collision, inly torii, 

IJy clouds Hiin'(Hiii(U!il, iind on n iiirlwinds hornc, 

Driven o'er the lowering!' iitniosiiliere that niir.st 

Thou;;hts which have liirn'd to thunder — seorcli — and burst. 

IJiit I'ai- iVoin ns and from onr mimic scene 
Such lliini^s siiciiild he — if siicli have ever hecn; 
Ours he tlu^ t;cntler wish, the kinder task, 
To jxive tli(! trihute (ilory n(^ed not ask, 
To mourn the vanish'd heani— and add our mito 
Of i)raise in iiayment. of a long delight. 
Ye Orators! wliom yet oui' councils yield. 
Mourn for the veteran llei'o of your tiekl! 
The wortliy rival of the wondi'ous T/irec! 
Whose words were sparks of Innnortalify ! 
Yc IJards ! to whom the Drama's Muse is dear, 
lie was your master — emulate iiim /icru .' 
Ye iiK'ii of wit and soi'ial clo(|ui'nc(' ! 
lie was your hrolher — hear his ashes hence! 
While jiowei's of mind almost of lioundless raiiffc, 
Complete in kind, as various in their cliati;;e, 
While ICloquiMice — Wit — I'oesy — and Mirth, 
That humhle J larmoiiist of care on Eartii, 
Survive ^vithiu our souls — while lives our sense 
Of pride in Merit's jjroud pre-eminence, 
IjOIi^' shall we se{d< his likeness — lonfj; in vain, 
And tiu'n to all of him which may remain, 
Siyhiii;,' that Nature form'd hut one such man, 
And hroke the die — in mouldin;;' .Sheridan. 
DiODATi, Jtcly n, 181G. 



ADDRESS, 

■roKEN AT THE OPENINO OP nKUKY-LANE THEATRE, SATUUDAY. 
OCTOBEIt 10, 18J2. 

In one (head iii;,''lit our ('ity saw, and si^h'd, 
IJow'd to the <liisl, (he Drama's tower of pride ; 
In one shori hour helield the hla/.intr fane, 
Apollo sink, and Hhakspeare cease to reign. 

Ye who helield (oh ! sifj-ht admired and monni'd. 
Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd!) 
Throui,di clouds of fire the massive fra^^-ments riven, 
l>ike Israel's pillar, (;hasc the iiit;lit from heaven: 
Saw the Ion;,'' eoliinin of revolving:- ilaiiies 
Shake its reel shadow o'er the startled Thames, 
While thousands, thronj,'''d around the hurninj,'- dome. 
Shrank back appall'd, and trcanhled for their home. 
As ^'lared the volumed hla/e, and ghastly shone 
The skies, with lightnings awful a's their own. 
Till hlaekein'ng ashes and the lonely wall 
Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'il her fall; 
Say — ^liall liiis ninv, nor less aspirin;,'' pile, 
llcar'il where once I'ose the mightiest in our isle. 
Know the same favor which the former knew, 
A shrine for Sbakspearc — worthy him and ijimf 



542 Mrscin.LAXEoc^ poems. 

Yes — it shall ho — the inajric of that uainc 
1>i'lios tlu> scvtlio ot' 'riiiio, tho torch ol' I'^lamo; 
(»ii tho saiiu> sjiot still coii-iccrMtcs tho scciio. 
And I'ids the Drama /k' >viu'i-i> she hath lircn : 
Thi-i l;il>ri<-'s liirlli altost.s tho potoiit spoil— 
linliiiuo our honest pride, and say, Uow well! 

As sdars tliis fane to oninlato tho last, 
Oh! niiL;lit wo ih-aw our oinons IVoni tlio)iasl, 
Soiiio lumr propitious lo our prayors may hoast 
Naiuos siioii as hallow still llio doino \vi> lost. 
On Drury lirst yonr Siddons' thrillini;' ai't 
O'orwhohn'd tlio j^ontlosl, storni'd tho stovuosl hoart, 
C)n Drury, (iarriok's latest huirols i^row , 
]l(M'o \-oin' last tears rolirini;' Kosoins drew : 
Sii^li'i'l his last thanks, and wept his last adion; 
Ihit still tor li\ inu' wit tho wroallis may iilooni, 
'.riial inily wasio their odoi's ^)'or tho tomb. 
!Snoh DriM'v olaim'd and elaims — nor you refuse 
One tribute to revive his sluinheriuL;' muse; 
"Willi garlands dool; your own Monander's head! 
Nor hoard yoiu- liono\s idly tor the dead ! 

Pear are tho days whieh n'ado our anuids bright, 
F.ro (Jarriok lied, or Ihin-^lov ooasod to write. 
J loirs to their labors, like all hiirh-horn heirs. 
\'ain of our aneestrv as they of theirs; 
^^'hile thus Uomomfiranoe borrows Hanqno's Lvlass 
'I'o claim the sooptrod shadows as tlu'v pass. 
And we tho nurror hold, wlicro imau'od shine 
Inunortal names, (Mnbla/.on'd on our line, 
I'ause — ere their feebler otfsprinj:" you condemn, 
Hclleet how bard the task to rival them ! 

Friends of the stajre! to whom both Players and riay?* 
!Must sue alike for pardon or for praise, 
^^■llose judi;inir voioo and eye alone direct 
Tlie boundless power to ehorish or reject; 
If e'er frivolil\- has loil lo tamo. 
And made us lilush that you forbore to blame; 
If e'er tho sinkinu' sta^e could eoiuloseend 
I'o soothe the sickly taste it ilare not mend. 
All past reproach niav invsent scenes ret'ute. 
And eonsure. wisely liind. iH'jitstly mute! 
(.>ii ! siiiee your tiat stamps the Drama's laws, 
F\M'bear lo uuiok ns with misplaovl aiiplanso; 
!So pride shall doubly nerve the aeior s powers, 
And reason's voice lie eeliood back by ours ! 

This fjreetin.iT o'er, the anc-ient riile ohey'd. 
The Drama's iuunauc by her herald paid, 
lieceive our welcome too. whose every tone 
ypriuii's from our hearts, and I'ain would win your own. 
The curtain rises — may our slai^e unfold 
iScenes not nnwoi'tby Drury 's days of old ! 
Uritons onr .indues. Nature for onr a'uide, 
SStill may tec please — lony, long may you preside. 



MISCFJ.LAXEOIIS POEMS. 

ON REVISITING IIARIIOW.* 

IIkuk onci^ c'litrii^'i'd (111? sd'Miiyi'i-'s view, 
^■oiiii;^- l'rici)il.slii))'.s iccord siiii|ily (I'.iccil ; 

Tv.w wiTO her wiirds, hut yot, llioii^li lew, 
JlcMuiitiiii'iit'.s liiiiiil Uiu liiii; (leraccil. 

I)f'('|)Iy slie flit— l)iit not criisi'd, 
'I'lic rliMi-iuMcrs wci'e .still so plain, 

I'ii.'il I'"riciidsliij) once i-ctm-n'd and <iiv/.cd — 
Till Ak'niory liail'd tin; words a^^iiin. 

Ileponlanco ))lacod thcin as Ixdoi-c; 

l^'or^'ivciu'ss join'd her ji-enlk? name; 
>S(> lair till' iMscription sccniM once more, 

'J'liat J'"riendsliip tliouHlit it still (lie same. 

Thus niijiht tii(! record now have been; 

Hilt, ill) ! in spiti! ol' Hope's endeavor, 
Oi- I<'riendsliii)'s toai-s, J'riile I'lisli'd l)e(wpcn. 

And l)lotte(l out tlie line lor ever. 



5 IS 



TIIIO ADIKIJ. 

WniTTEN UNDKU TIIK IMIMtlCSSKIN THAT TIIH AIITUOK WOIH.IJ 
SOON DUO. 

AnirjT, llioii Hill! where early joy 

Spread I'oses o'er my hrow; 
Where Sciciici' scei<s cacii loileriiij,'' l)()y 

Willi kiiowicil;;-!' (o ('iidow. 
Adieu, my yoiitliriil I'rieiids or I'oes, 
I'iirtners oriormcr bliss or woe.-+; 

No more tliroii^ih Ida's i)allis we stray; 
Soon must J share the filoomy cell. 
Whose ever-sliimli(!rin;4' inmates dwell 

Uneonseioiis ol'the day. 

A(hcii, ye hoary Ue<;a.l Fanes, 

Y(! spires ol' (Jranta's vale, 
Where Leariiiii^c robed in saiile reigns, 

And Melaiiclioly pide. 
Ye comrades of the jovial hour. 
Ye tenants ol'tlii^ classic bower. 

On (Kama's verdant niar;.;'iii placed, 
Adieu! while m(>morv still is mine. 
For, oirerinf,>'s on Oblivion's shrine, 

These scenes must be ellaced. 

Adieu, yc mountains of the clime 

Where j^rew my yoiillil'iil years; 
Where Loch na (Jarr in sikjws siililimc 

His }riaut summit rears. 

• Somo years hk", wlioii iit Marrow, n friend cf Ok. luitlior entrrnvcd on a. par 
tlculur spot \hv, iiaiiK's of liolli, wllli a lew Mdilllloiiiil words, iis a memorliU. 
Altcrvviinis, on n^'clvliiK sonic real or IniiiKlncd Inliirs', llie jinlhor dcstrovcd llio 
ft-all rt'conl licloi-e lie lell Iliinow. (Jn revisllin;,' (lie plaee In 1K(»7, ho wrolii 
uiuler it tliuso Htaiizax. 



544 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Why dill my fhiUlhooil wander forth 
From you, the rcjiions oi'tlio North, 

Witli sons of jirido to roam ? 
Why did I qviit my llii^hlaiid cave, 
Marr's dusky hcaih, and Disc's clear wave. 

To seek a Sotheroii home ! 

Hall of my Sires ! a lonp: farewell — 

Yet v\i\y to thee adieu ? 
Thy vaults will ceho hack my knell, 

Thy towers my tomb will view : 
The l'alteriii;>' toujiue whieh suiij;- thy fall, 
And former glories of thy llall. 

Forgets its wonted simple note — 
But yet the Lyre retains the string's, 
And sometimes, on ^EoHau wings, 

lu dying strains may lloat. 

Fields, which suiTound yon rustic cot. 

While yet I linger heiv. 
Adieu! you are not now forgot, 

To retrosjtect ion dear. 
Streandct ! along whose rippling surge 
My youthful limbs were wont to urge. 

At noontide heal, tlieir pliant eourSo; 
riunging with ardor from the shore. 
Thy springs will lave these limbs no more, 

IJeprivcd of active force. 

And shall I here forget the scene 

Still nearest to my breast ? 
Hocks rise and rivers roll lietwecn 

The si)0t wliieh passion blest; 
Yet, Mary, all thy lieauties seem 
Fresh as in Love's bewitching dream. 

To me in smiles disitlay'd; 
Till slow disease resigns his prey 
To Death, the parent of decay, 

Thine image cannot fade. 

And thou, my Friend ! whose gentle love 

Yet thrills my bosom's cliords. 
How much thy friendship was above 

Description's power of words! 
Still near my i)reast tliy gift I wear 
Which sparkled once with Feeling's tear, 

t)f Love the pure, the sacred gem; 
Our souls were equal, and our lot 
In that dear moment (piite forgot; 

Let I'ride alone eoudemn ! 

All, all is dark and cheerless now ! 

No smile of Love's deceit 
Can warm my veins with wonted glow, 

Can hid Life's pulses heat : 
Not e'en the hope of future fame 
Can wake my faint, exhausted frame, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 545 

Or (M'owii with faiicicd wroiitlis my head: 
]Miiic is ;i short, iii;;i(iri(>iis i-acc;, — 
To huiublo ill the ihist my liice, 

Ami miuglu with the il'uad. 

O Fnmc ! thou goddess of my heart, 

On liiiii who i_'';i.iiis (liy praise, 
I'oiiith'ss must Ihll llio S|)crtre's dart, 

Coiisiiiiicil in (JIovn's hi;iz(' ; 
Rnt nic siic beckons from tiie cMi-tli, 
]My name ol)seure, unmaikM ni}- l)ii'th, 

JSIy life a siiort and vulvar dream : 
Lost ill the dull, i;i'n()l)le erowd, 
Mv liopes reeline within a siirond. 

My fate is Lethe'.s stream. 

When I repose lieiieath tiic sod, 

I'niieeded in tiii^ elny, 
Where once my i)laylVil footsteps trod, 

Where now hiy iiead must lay, 
The meed of Pil^y will i)e shed" 
111 dewdrops o'er my narrow bed, 

IJy nightly skies, and storms alone; 
No mortal eye will deign to steep 
With tears tlie tiark scpulehiai deep 

Whieli hiiles a name unknown. 

Fornjct this world, my restless sprite, 

Turn, turn thy thoughts to Heaven: 
There must thoii soon direet thy Might, 

If errors are Ibrgiveii. 
To bigots and to seets unknown. 
Bow down beneath the Almighty's Throne; 

To Him address thy treml)liiig prayer: 
lie, who is mereiful and just, ' . 

Will not reject a child oi'diist. 

Although his meanest eare. 

Father of Light! to thee I call ; 

My soul is dark within : 
Thoii who eaiist mark the sparrow's fall. 

Avert the death of sin. 
Thou, who canst guide the wandering star, 
Who ealm'st the el(MiienlMl war. 

Whose mantle is yon iioundless sky. 
My thougiits, my words, my crimes ibrgivo: 
And, siiuH; I soon must cease to live, 

Instruet me how to die. 



FAREWELL TO THE MHSE. 

Tiiou Power! who hast ruled me through infjiney's days. 
Young oUspring of fancy, 'tis time we siiould part; 

Then rise on tlie gale this the last of my lays. 

The coldest elfusion wliicli sprinus frcm inv heart. 
.■i5 



646 MISCELLAXEOUS POEMS. 

This bosom, responsive to rapture no more, 

Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sins'; 

The i'eeliuu's orchililhooil which t:iu;;ht thee to soar, 
Are wafted fur distant on Apathy's winy'. 

Thotifi'h simiilc the tJiemes of my rude flowing: Lyre, 
Yet even these themes are dejiarted for ever; 

No more heani the eyes whieh my dream eould inspire, 
My visions are Howu, to return — uhisl never. 

When drain'd is the nectar whieh jjladdens the bowl, 
llow vain is the ell'ort di'li.i;ht to prolouK ! 

When eold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul. 
What magic of fuucy can lengthen my song ? 

Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone, 

Of Uissi's and smiles which they now must resign? 

Or dwell with ileliglit on the hours that ai-c llown ? 
Ah, no ! for those hours I'an no longer be mine. 

Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love ? 

Ah, surely atfeciidu cuuoiiles the strain! 
But how can my luunbers iu sympalhv move, 

^Vhen 1 scarcely can hope to beliokl them again ? 

Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers-have done, 
And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires ? 

For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone! 
For Heroes' exploits how unequal my lires ! 

L^utouch'd, then, my I^vre shall reply to the blast — 
'Tis hush'd, and iny feeble endeavors are o'er; 

And those who have "heard it will pardon the past. 

When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate uo more. 

And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot, 
Since early all'cctiou and love are o'ercast : 

Oh! blest had my fate i)cen, and hajipy my lot. 

Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last. 

Farewell, my young 'Muse! since we now can ne'er meet; 

If our songs have been languid, they surely are few; 
Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet — 

The present — whicli seals our eternal adieu. 



TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD. 

Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground, 
1 lioped that thy days wouUl be longer than mine; 

That tliy dark-waving branches woukl tiourish around. 
And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine. 

Such, such was my hope, when in infancy's years, 
l.)n the land of iny fathers I rear'd thee with pride; 

They are past, and 1 water thy stem with my tears, — 
Thy decay not the weeds that surround thee can hide. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 547 

I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour, 

A stranji'cr has dwelt in the hall of my sire; 
Till manhood shall crown me, not mine is the power, 

But his, whose ueglcct may have bade thee expire. 

Oh ! hardy thou wcrt — even now little care 

iMij^ht revive thy yonn;;- head, and thy wounds j^cntly heal: 
But Ihou wert not fa(ed all'ection to share — 

For who could suppose that a stranger would feel! 

Ah, droop not, my Oak ! lift thy head for a while ; 

Ere twice round yon Glory tiiis planet shall I'un, 
The hand of Ihy Master will teach thee to smile. 

When Infancy's years of probation are done. 

Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r alo(\ from the weeds 
That clo^' thy young growth, and assist thy decay, 

Por still in thy bosom arc life's early seeds. 
And still may thy branches their beauty display. 

Oh ! yet, if maturity's years may be thine, 
Tiiough / shall lie low in the cavern of death, 

On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine, 
Uninjured by time, or the rude winter's breath. 

For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave 

O'er the corse of thy lord in tiiy canopy laid ; 
While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave, 

The chief who survives may recline in thy shade. 

And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot, 
lie will tell them in whispers more softly to tread. 

Oh ! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot; 
Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead. 

And here, will they say, when in life's glowing prime, 
Perhaps he has pour'd forth his ^oung simjile lay, 

And here must lie sleep, till the moments of time 
Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day. 



EPISTLE TO A FRIEND, 

IX ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXUOKTINO THE AUTUOK TO BE 
CUEEltEUL, AND TO " BANISH CARE." 

" On ! banish care " — such ever be 
The motto of thi/ revelry ! 
Perchance of mine, when wassail nights 
Renew tliose riotous deli;^hts, 
AVhei-ewilh the children of Despair 
Lull the lone heart, and " banish care." 
But not in morn's reflecting hour, 
When present, past, and future lower, 
Wiien all I loved is changed or gone. 
Mock with such taunts the woes of one. 
Whose every thought — but let them pass— 
Thou kuow'st I am not what I was. 



548 MISCELLAXEOrS rOEMS. 

J?iit, !il>i)V(' iill, if tlioii woiiltlst hold 
I'lari' ill a licirl lli:il ne'er was cold, 
Jly all llie powers llwil men revere, 
JSv 111! unto lliy liosoni lieiir, 
'rliy joys Ix'low, thy lioiies above, 
Npeiik — speak t)!" anylliiiiL;' hut love. 

"I'wen^ loiiiT to tell, iinil vain lo hear. 
Till" tale of one who seorns a teaf; 
And (here is liltle in dial tale 
AN'hieh heller hosonis wonld hi-wail. 
Itiil mine has siill'erM more llian wi'll 
'Twonlil sllil liiiilosophy |o lejl. 
I've seen my luide anoilier's hride, — 
lliivo seen her seali-il h\' his side, — 
Have seen Ihe inlanl wliieli she bore, 
M'eiir the sweet smile the motlier wore, 
^\'hen she and 1 in voiilh have smih-d, 
As fond and fanllless as iier child; 
lime seen her I'yes, in eold dis<lain, 
Ask if I fell no seei'el pain; 
And / ha\ e acted well my part, 
And made my cheek helie my heart, 
Uetnrn'd the IVce/ini,'' i^Iaiiee she ;;avc, 
Yet fell Ihe while t/tat woman's slav^^ — 
]la\e kiss'd, as if wilhonl desij;n, 
The hahe which ou,L;ht to have heen mine, 
^\nd show'd, alas! in each caress 
'i'inic had not made me lo\ e the less. 

Hut let this pass d'll whine no more, 
■Nor si'ck a;^ain an eastern shore; 
'i'hc world Itetils a hnsy brain, — 
I'll hie me lo its hannis auiiin. 
14nl if, in some succeedinj; year, 
AN'lien Uiilain's " May is in'ihe ser(<," 
'J'hon hear'sl of one whose deepiMiinL,' eriincs 
JSnil with the sablest of the limes. 
Of one, whom love nor pily sways, 
>;or ho|ic of lame, nor <;ood meii's praise; 
One, who in stern andiiiion's pride, 
rerchancc not blood shall Inrn aside; 
One rank'd in some rceoidiiiL;- pa^-c 
Milh Ihe worst anarchs of the a^e, 
]lim will thon /.7((i«'— and /oiowiiu/ pa\isc, 
Nor with the r/fWf fm'f^ct the eansc. 
Kv.^vsTK.vn AiiiiKY, (htolur II, IMU. 



STANZAS KO|{ MI'S 10. 

1 si-KAK not, T trace not, 1 breathe not thy name; 
'J'here is j^rief in the sound, there is onill" in Ibc fame : 
I'.nl the tear which now burns on my check nia\ impart 
'J"he deep lhoiii;bls that dwell in tiia"l siliMice of'hearl. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Too bripf for our passion, too Ion? for our peace, 
\V ere tliose honvs-can llieir joy or their i)itternc,ss cease ? 
We repent, \vc alynre, we will break from oiirehain,- 
We will part, we will Hy to— unite it a-ain ! 

Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the <niilt' 
±or^nve me, adored one l-forsake if thou wTlt; 
But the heart which is thine shall expire un.lebiised. 
Antl man shall not break it-whatever thou niay'st. 
And stern to the hau<;htv, but humble to thee, 
Ihis sold in its bitterest blackness shall l)e • 

w!'ihH',on1-''' '''''"• ;'' 'V''"'' '""' "'"• '""'"^•"ts more sweet, 
With thee i)y my side, than with worlds at our feet. 

One si<rh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love 
biiall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove ; 
And the heartless may wonder at all I resi..-n— 
lliy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine. 



549 



ADDRESS 

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN KECITED AT THE CALEDONI V\ 
MEETING, 1S14. 

Who hM,th not -low'd above the pajre where fame 
llalli lix ,1 l,i;.|, (jiledon's iincompier'd name : 
I he m.umtjun land wlncli spurn'd the Roman chain, 
And ba lied back the (lery-crested Dane : 
Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand 
JVo toe coukl tame— no tvrant could command ' 
liiat raee is ?one-but still their children l)rcathe 
And Hlory crowns them with redoubled wreath: 
A ^'\ ^l"-'' "'»•' '"^ii-^on miii-iiny banners shine. 
And Midland ! add their stubborn strcn-lh to tiiinc. 
Ihe bloo.l winch aow'd with \Vallace Hows as free 
l^ut now tis oidy shed for fame and thee ' 
Oh! pass not by the northern veteran's claim 
But jrivc support-the world hath -iven iiim fame! 

The humbler ranks, the lowlv brave, who bled 
VV ule eheerly followin-- wbeVe the mi-htv led— 
\V ho sleep beneath the nndistiuniiish'd sod 
\\ here hapjuer comrades in llieir triumph trod. 
To us bequeath'd-'tis all Ihvh late allows— 
liic sireless otfsprinn- and tlie l.melv spouse: 
She on hi-h Albyn's diiskv hills may raise 
llie tearful eye in melancholy jjaze ; 
Or view while shadowy au-,Miries disclose, 
llie llijihland seer's anticipated woes 
Ihe blcedin-- phantom of each martial form, 
Dmi ui the cloud, or darklin- in Ihe sH.rm : 
VV hilc sad she chants the solitarv son"-. 
The soft lament for him who tarries lo'nn-— 
For him whose distant ri'lics vainly crav"e 
The coronach's wild retiniem to the brave! 



5-j() MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

"fis heaven — not man — inii'^t charm away the woe, 
Which bursts when Nature's leeliiig's newly How, 
Yet lenilerness and lane may rol) the tear 
Of luilf its bitterness, for one so dear; 
A nation's fi-ratitutU^ perchance may spread 
A thornU^ss iiilhnv for the widow'd head ; 
INIay liL:iiteii well her heart's niuterntil care. 
Anil wean from penury the soldier's heir. 



TO BEL.SIIAZZAR. 
Belsiiazzak ! from the ban(iuet turn. 

Nor in thy sense.:'.! fulness fall; 
Behold ! wliilc yet before thee 1. mi 

The <;ravcn words, the j>lowii:g wall, 
INIany a despot men miscall 

Cr'own'd and anointed from on hii;h; 
But thou, the weakest, worst of all — 

Is it not written, thou must die ? 

Go ! dash the roses from tliy brow — 

Gray hairs but poorly wreathe with them ' 
Youth's li'arlands misbecome thee now, 

More than tiiy very diadem. 
Where thon hast tariiish'd every <ic\\r:^- 

Tlien throw the worthless bauble by, 
Which, worn l)y thee, e'en slaves con"temn; 

And learn lil^c better men to die ! 

Oh! early in tlie balance wciuh'd, 

And ever li^ht of word and worth, 
Whose soul expired ere youth decay'd, 

vVnd left thee but a mass of earth. 
To see thee moves the scorner's mirth : 

But tears in Hope's averted eye 
Lament that even thou hadst birth — 

Unlit to govern, live, or die. 



STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 

TiiEY say that Hope is happiness; 

But genuine Love nuist prize the past. 
And ^Memory wakes the thoughts that bless S 

They rose'the lirst^thcy set the last; 

And all that IMcniory loves the most 

Was once our only Hope to he. 
And all tnat Hope ailoreil and lost 

Hath mcited into Memory. 

Alas ! it is delusion all ; 

'The future cheats us from af\vr, 
Nor :;un we be what we recall, 

Nor dare we think on what we arc. 



CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE: 

A ROMAUNT. 



" L'univers est line espice de Hvre, dont on n'a In que la premiere page 
quand on n'a vu c;ue son pays. J'en ai feuilletd un asscz grand nombre, que 
j ai tiouve dgalenient mauvaises. C^t exainen ne ni'a point lili infructiieux. 
Je haissais ma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des pouples divers, parmi 
lesquels j'ni vecu, ni'ont reconciliii avec elle. Qnanil je n'aurais tire d'autre 
biinefice de mes voyages que celui-li, je n'en regretterais ni les frais ui Ics 
f.-.tigue-'." — Le CosMoi'ouTE. 



PREFACE 

[to thk first and skcond castos]. 

TnK following noem was written, for the most part, amidst the scenes which 
it attempts to doseribc. It was begun in All)ania ; and the parts relative to 
Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in these 
countries. Thus much it maybe necessary to state Ibrtlio correctness of the 
descriptions. Tlve scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, I'ortugal, 
Epirus, Acarnania. and Greece. There, for the present, the poem stops: its re- 
ception will determine wlicther the author may venture to conduct his readers 
to tlie cai)itat of tlie East, through Ionia and Phrygia: these two Cantos are 
merely experimental. 

A flctitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connection to 
tlie piece; which, however, makes no pretensions to regularity. It has been 
suggested to mc by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value, that in this 
flctitious character, " CInlde Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having in- 
tended some real personage: this I beg leave, once for alt, to disclaim — Harold is 
the child of imagination, for tlie purpose I have stated. In some very trivial 
particulars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for such a notion; 
but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever. 

It is almost superfluous to mention that the ajjpellation "Childe," as " (hildc 
Waters," "Childc Childers," &c., is used as more consonant witli the old struc- 
ture of versification which I have adopted. The " Good Night," in the beginning 
of the first Canto, was suggested by " Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in the 
Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott. 

With the different poems which have been published on Spanish subjects, 
there may be found some slight coincidence in tlic first part which treats of the 
Peninsula, but it can only be casual; as, with the exception of a few concluding 
stanzas, liie v.hoie of th!s pcom v;as written m the Levant. 

.5.')1 



552 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 

The stanza of Spenser, according to one of oar most successful poets, admits 
of every variety. Dr. Beattie malves the following observation : — " Xot long 
ago, I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in wliieh I propose to 
give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or 
sentimental, tender or satirical, as the luimor strikes me; for, if I mistake not, 
the measure which I liave adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composi- 
tion." Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of 
some of the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts 
at similar variations in tlie following composition ; satisfied that, if they are un- 
successful, their fi\ilure must be in the execution, rather than in the design, 
sanctioned bj- the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie. 
LosDON, February, 1S12. 



ADDITION TO THE PREFACE. 

I have now waited till almost all our periodical journals have distributed tUcit 
usual portion of criticism. To tlie justice of the generality of their criticisms 
I have nothing to object; it would ill become me to quarrel with their very 
slight degree of censure, when, perhaps, if they had been less kind, they had 
been more candid. Keturniug, tlierefore, to all and each my best thanki for 
their liberality, on one point alone shall I venture an observation. Amongst the 
many objections justly urged to the very indifferent character of tlie "vagrant 
Childe," (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to 
be a fictitious personage,) it has been stated, that, besides the anachronism, he 
is very unknigblly , as the times of the Knights were times of Love, Honor, and 
so forth. Now, it so hajipens that the good old times, when " Tamour du bon 
vieux temps, raraour antique " flourished, were the most protligate of all possi- 
ble centuries. Those who have any doubts on this subject may consult Sainte- 
Palaye, jDctssini, and more particularly vol. ii. p. 69. The vows of chivalry were 
no better kept than any other vows whatsoever: and the songs of the Trouba- 
dours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of 
Ovid. The " Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour, on de courtesie et de gentil- 
esse," had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Roland on 
the same subject with Sainte-Palaye. Whate\er other objection may be urged 
to that most unumiable personage, Childe Harold, he was so far perfectly 
knightly in his attributes — "No waiter, but a knight templar."* By the by, I 
fear that Sir Tristrem and .Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, 
although very poetical pei-sonages and true knights, "sans peur," though not 
" sans reproche." If the story of the institution of the " Garter " be not a fable, 
the knights of that order have for several centuries borne the badge of a Countess 
of Salisbury, of indiflcrent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not 
have regretted that its days are over, though Marie- Antoinette was quite as 
chaste as most of those in whose honors lances were shivered, and knights 
unhorsed. 

Before the daj-s of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks (the most 
chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times), few exceptions will be 
found to this statement ; and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to re- 
gret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages. 

I now leave " Childe Harold " to live his day, such as he is ; it had been more 

* " The Rovers, or the Double Arrangement." 



CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 553 

agreeable, ami certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It 
had been easy to varnish over his limits, to make him do more and express less; 
bnt he never was intended as an example, further than to show that early per- 
version of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and disappoint- 
ment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of 
travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements), are lost on a 
soul so constituted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, this 
character would liave deepened as he drew to the close; for the outline which I 
once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modem 
Timon, perhaps a poetical Zcluco. 

London, 1813. 



554 CniLDE HAROLD'S riLGRIMAGE. 



TO lANTIIE. 

Not in those elimcs wliorc T liavc late been strayinjr, 
TluMijjh Roauty loiijx liath tliero licoii niatclilossVleom'cl, 
Not ill tlioso visions to the heart ihs|)laviiiu' 
Forms which it siL;lis Imt to iiave only (hvaiiiM, 
Hath auulit lil<e tiiee in truth or t'aiiey seem'il : 
Nor, haviiiii' seen thee, shall I vainly seek 
To paint those eliarnis wliieh varied as they hea:r.M; 
To sueh as see thee not my words were weak ; 
To tlioso who jjaze on thee what hingiia<ic could they sjicak? 

Ah ! may'st thou ever he what now thou art, 
Nor uiilK'seein the promise of thy spring'. 
As lair in form, as warm yet |>ure in heart, 
Love's imai^e n|ioii eartii without his winy'. 
And i^uileless beyond Hope's imauiiiiuL;' ! 
And surely she who now so fondly rears 
Tiiy youth, in thee, thus hourly hriuhteninjr, 
Heiiold tlie rainbow of her future years. 
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow ilisajwars. 

YouuLT Peri of the West ! — 'tis well for mc 
^fy vears already doubly number thine; 
My loveless eye unmoved may iraze on thoc, 
And sat'ely view thy ripeniuir l>eauties shine : 
llappv, I ne'er shall see them in decline; 
Happier, that while all youiiiier hearts shall bleed, 
^liue shall escape the doom thine eyes assign 
To tlu>se whose admiration shall sueceeil. 
But iniv'd with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed- 

Oh ! let that eve, which, wild as the gazelle's, 
Now lirightly liohl or beautifully shy, 
Wins as it waiiilers, da/./lcs where it dwells. 
Glance o'er lliis jiagc, nor to my verse deny 
That smile for which my In-east might vainly sigh, 
Could I to thee be ever more than iVicnd ; 
This much, dear maiil, accord; nor question why 
To one so young my strain I would commend, 
Bnt hill me with my wreath one matchless lily hlciul. 

Such is thy name with this my verse entwined; 
And Knig as kinder eyes a look shall cast 
C)n Harold's paiic, lanthe's here eushrined 
Shall thus he lirst beheld, forgotten la<t : 
Jly days once number'd, should this homage past 
Attract thy fairv lingers near the lyre 
Of him wiio hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast, 
Such is the most my memory may desire; 
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require ' 



CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 



CANTO THE FIRST. 



On, tlioii I ill Hclliis (k'cm'd of liciivenly birth, 
INIiise! lonuM or l'al)lt'il ;il the niinstrers will! 
Since sli;iim'(.l I'lill (il'l l)y hitcr 1\ rrs on I'lU'lh, 
Mint" ilai't's not ciill tlu'c from tliy saci'i'il liill: 
Yet tlicre I've wiuulcrM hy thy vunntcd rill; 
Yes! si'j'hM o'er Delphi's lonu'-ileserted shrine,* 
Where, save th-.il leelile lountiiin, all is still; 
Nor nioto my shell awake the weary Nine 
To grace so i)lain a tale — this lowly lay ol' mine. 

II. 
Wliilom in Albion's isle there dwelt a _vonth, • 

Who ne in virlne's ways did take deli;^ht; 
Hut spent his days in riot most uncouth. 
And vex'cl with niirtli the drowsy ear of Night. 
Ah, nie ! in sooth he was a shameless wight. 
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; 
Few earthly things found favor in his sight , 

Save concubines and carnal conipanie, 
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. 

III. 
Childc Harold was lie hight : — but whence his name 
And lineage long, it suits me not to say; 
Suffice it, that )H'rehanee they were of fame, 
And had iicen glorious in another day: 
l}ut one sad losel soils a nami' for aye, 
However mighty in the olden lime; 
Nor all that heralils r;Uve from eoHin'd clay. 
Nor florid prose, nor houey'd lies of rhyme, 
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. 

• The little vIllaRO of (,'nsfri stniuls partly on the site of Polphi. Almis the 
path of the iiiouiitalii, tVoni Clirvsso, arc tlu^ roniaius of sc|iiilolirps licwn in 
ami from tlic nn-k. "Oik'," said tlii< .miiilc, " of a IsIm.l; who tii-oUc liis wvK 
lunitili;;." His majesty had cerlainly (.•1his<-ii llie llUcst sjiot forsiirh an achieve- 
ment. A Utile al)o"ve Castri is a eavc, supposed the Pytliiaii, of immense depth; 
the upper pan of it is paved, ami now a cow-lioiise. On tlie other side of t'astri 
stands a Hreek monastery; some way ahove wliieh Is tlie cleft In the rock, with 
a ranse of caverns diltlcult of ascent, and apparently leadiiiK to the Interior of 
the moimtaiii; probably to the Coryeian Cavern mentioned by I'ausanias. Trom 
this part descend the fountain and the " l>ews of C'astalie." 

5.55 



5.)r. CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto I. 



{^liildo llnrolil haskM liiin in tlic nooutulo sun, 
l)is|iortini,^ tln'iv like any otlicr tly, 
Kor (U'cin'd lu'lore hi-s little day was done 
t)ne blast niiji'lit chill him into niiscry. 
Hut lonji: ere scarce a third of his (lass'd by, 
AN'orse tluin advcrsitv the Chilile beiell; 
Tie felt tlie fulness of satiety: 
Then loailu'd be in his native land to dwell, 
Which scem'd to him more lone thau Eremite's sad celL 

V. 

For he thronvrh Sin's lon^' labyrinth had run, 
Nor made atonement >\hen he did amiss. 
Had siuh'd t(} many thon;:h he loved but one, 
And that loved one, alas ! coukl ne'er be his. 
Ah, happy she ! to 'scape from him whose kiss 
llail been pollution unto auLjht so chaste; 
\Vho soon had left her ebarins for vnluar bliss, 
And spoilM her j^oodly lands to j;ild his waste. 
Nor calm domestic peace had ever ileign'd to taste. 

VI. 

And now (^hildc Harold was sore sick at Keart, 
And from his fellow bacchanals would tiec ; 
'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, 
But Pride conu'eal'd the drop within his e'e : 
Apart be stalkM in joyless reverie, 
And from his native land resolved to ;^'o, 
And visit scorebinij- climes beyond the sea ; 
With pleasure drugji'd, he almost long'd for woe. 
And e'en for eliauLre of scene would seek the shades below. 



The Childe departed from his father's hall; 
It was a vast and venerable pile ; 
So old, it seemed only not to fall. 
Yet strength was pillar'd in each massy aisle. 
]Monastie dome I eondemn'd to uses vile! 
A\'here Sniierstition once bad luade her den. 
Now rajihiau girls were known to sing and smile; 
And monks might deem their time was come agcn. 
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. 

VIII. 

Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthfid mood 
Strange pangs would tlasii along ChiUle Harold's brow. 
As if the nuMuory of sonu' deadly feud 
Or disapi>ointed }iassion lurk'd below: 
Hut tliis none knew, nor haply eared to know: 
For his was not that open, ariless soul 
That feels relief by liidding sorrow flow. 
Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, 
Whatc'cr this grief mote be, which he could not control. 



CANTO I.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 557 

IX. 

And none did love him— tlioiisli to IkiII and bower 
lie t;';illier'(l iv\i'lU'rs from l';ir and ii(':ir, 
lie knew tlietn llatterers of the I'estal liour; 
The hearth^'is iiarasites of jn-t'seiit eheer. 
Yea! none did hjve him — not his lemans dear — 
Bnt pimii) and power ah)nc are woman's earc, 
And where tliese arc li;ilit Eros finds a fere; 
Maidens, like mollis, are ever eaii^iit i)y ^larc. 
And Mammon wins his way wliei'o !Serai)lis might despair. 



Childe Harold had a mother — not forfrot, 
Thongh parting' from that mother he did shun; 
A sister whom lie loved, hut saw her not 
Before his weary pilgrimage l)egun: 
If friends he had, he liade adieu to none. 
Yet deem not tlienee his breast a hreast of steel: 
Yc, who have known what 'tis to dote upon 
A few dear objcets, will in sadness feel 
Such partings break the heart they fomlly hope to heal. 



His house, his liome, his heritage, his lands. 
The laui^hing dames in whom he tlid delight, 
Whosf large blue eyes, fair loeks, and snowy hands, 
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite, 
And long had fctl his yotithfid a)ipetite; 
His golilets brimm'd with every eostly wine. 
And all that mote to luxury invite, 
M'ithout a sigh he left to cross the brine, 
Aiu\ traverse I'aynim shores, and pass Ivuth's central line, 

XII. 

The sails were fdl'd, and fair the light winds blew, 
As glad to waft him from his native home; 
And fast the white roeks faded from his view. 
And soon wei'c lost in eireunnimbient foam : 
And then, it may he, of his wish to roam 
liejiented he, but in his bosom slept 
The silent thought, nor from his lips did come 
One word of wail, whilst others sate and wept. 
And to the reckless gales unnuuily nu)aning kept. 

XIII. 

But when the sun was sinking in the sea. 
He seized his harp, which he at times could string, 
And strike, albeit with untaught nudody, 
When deen\'d he no strange ear was listening: 
And now his lingers o'er it he did lling, 
And tuned his farewell in the dim twilight, 
While Hew the vessel on her snowy wing, 
And Meeting shores receded from las sight. 
Thus to the elements he pour'd his last " Good Night." 



558 CIIILDE HAROLD'S riLGIUMAGE. [canto i. 

"Adieu, adieu ! my native sliore 

Fades o'er the waters blue; 
The Ni^hl-wiuds si^h, the lireaUers roar. 

And shrieks the wiUl sea-mew. 
Yon !Snn that sets upon the sea 

Wc I'olhnv in his lli;;hl: 
Farewell a while to him and tliec, 

Mj' native l^and— Good Nijjht! 

"A few short hours, and he will rise 

To ji'ive the niori'ow birth; 
And i shall hail the main and skies, 

But not my mother earth. 
Deserted is my own jrood hall. 

Its hearth is desolate ; 
Wild weeds are jjathering' on the wall; 

My ilog' howls at the gate. 

"(^ome hither, hither, my little page, 

M'hy dost liiou weep and wail ? 
Or dost thou dread tiie billow's rag^c, 

Or tremble at the gale ? 
But dasli the tear-drop iVom thine eye; 

C)nr ship is swil't and strong: 
C)nr lleetesi I'ahon searee ean lly-^ 

More merrily along.'' 

"Let winds be shrill, let waves roll higli, 

I fear not wave nor wind : 
Yet nuirvcl not, Sir Childe, that I 

Am sorrowfnl in miud ; 
For I have from my father gone, 

A motlier whuni I love, 
And have no I'liend, save these nlonc, 

But thee — and One above. 

"My father bless'd mc fervently, 

Yet did not mueh eomiilain; 
But sorely will mv nu)ther sigh 

Till 1 eome baek again." — 
"Enough, enough, my little lad! 

Sueh tears beeome thine eye; 
If I thy guileless bosom had. 

Mine own would not be dry. 

" Couu^ hither, hither, my staneh yeoman. 

Why dost thou look so i>ale ? 
Or dost tlion dread a Freueli Ibeman ? 

Or shiver at the gale ? " — 
" Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? 

Sir Ohilde, I'm lu^t so weak ; 
But thiuking on an absent wife 

Will blaneh a faithful eheek. 

"Mv spouse and boys dwell near thy hall. 

Along the bordering lake. 
And when they on their father eall. 

What answer shall she uuiko ? " — 



CANTO I.] SIIILDE HAROLirS PIT.GRIMAGE. 559 

" r]nou>;h, cnoiifrh, my yeoman jj^ooil, 

Tliy {^rief lot none ^i'ainsjiy ; 
But I, who aiu ol" lij,''htLM' mood, 

Will laujili to Hoc away. 

" For will) would trust, the seeming sighs 

Oi' will' or pai amour ? 
Frcsli teres w ill dry the l)rif,''ht bhie eyes 

We late saw streamiu;;' o'er. 
For pleasures ))ast 1 do uot j,^rievc, 

Nor perils ^'■allicriuu' uear; 
My fii-ealcst, ;;ricr is Mint 1 leave 

Mo thin;;' that claims a tear. 

"And now I'm in the world alone, 

I'lion tlu' wide, wide sea : 
But why should I for others j,''roan, 

When none will sii;h for me ? 
Perclianee niv do;;' will whine in vain, 

Till Wd l)y"strau;;-er hiinds; 
15ul Ion;;' ere 1 eome hack a;;ain 

He'd tear me wdiei'e he stands. 

"With thee, my l)ark, I'll swiftly go 

Athwart the foamiii^i' hrine; 
Nor care wliiit land thou hear'st mc to. 

So uot ai;aiu to mine. 
Welcome, welcome, ye daiU blue waves! 

And when you fail my si;;ht, 
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye eaves ! 

My uativ'e land— (Jood Night ! " 

XIV. 

On, on the vessel (lies, the land is gone, 
And winds are rude, in Biscay's sh'cpless hay. 
Four days are sped, hut with the fifth, auon, 
New shores descried make every bosom gay; 
And (^iulia's mountain greets them on their way, 
And Tagiis dashing onward to the deep, 
His fabled golden tribute bent to pay; 
And soon on board the Lusian ])ilots leap, 
And steer 'twixt fertile shores w here yet few rustics reap. 

XV. 

Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly siglit to see 
What Heaven hath done for this delieions land! 
What fruits of fragrance i)hish on every tree! 
What goodly prospects o'er the hills expand! 
But niiin would mai- them with an impious hand: 
And when the Aluiiglit\- lifts His llt'rcest scourge 
'(iainst those who most transgress His high command, 
With treble vengeance will His hot shafts ni'gc 
Gaul's locust host, and earth from fellest foemcn purge. 

XVI. 

What beauties doth Lisboa first unfold! 
Her image floating on that noble tide. 



.■)G0 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto i 

Which poets vainly pave with sands of ■iokl, 
Bnl now wliorcon a thousand keels did ride 
Of niii;hty streniith, since Alhion was allied, 
And to the J^usians did her aid atford : 
A nation swollen with ignorance and (iride 
Who liek yet loathe the hand that waves the sword 
To save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. 

XVII. 

But whoso entereth within this town, 
That, sheeiiiuL;' far, celestial seems to he, 
Disconsolate will wander up and down, 
'Mid many thin>;'s nnsi^ihtly to strange e'e ; 
For hut and palace show like tilthily : 
The dingy denizens are rcar'd in dirt; 
No )ierstniage of high or mean degi-ee 
Dotii care for cleanness of surtout or shirt, 
Though shcnt with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd; 
unhurt. 

XVIII. 

Poor, paltry slaves! yet born 'midst noblest scenes — 
Why, Nature, waste thy wonders on such men ? 
1^0 ! Ciutra's glorious Eden intervenes 
In variegated ma/e of mount and glen. -^^ 
Ah, mo! what hand can pencil guide, or pen, 
To follow half on which the eye dilates 
Through views more dazzling unto mortal ken 
Than tiiose whereof such things the bard relates, 
Who to the awe-struck world uulock'd Elysium's gates ? 

XIX. 

The horrid crags, by toppling convent crown'd. 
The cork-trees hoar that clothe the shaggy steep, 
The mountain-moss by scorching skies imhrown'd, 
The sunken glen, whose sunless shrubs must weep, 
The tender azure of the unruttted deep. 
The orange tints that gild the greenest bough. 
The torrents that from clitf to valley leap. 
The vine on high, the willow-branch below, 
Mix'd in one mighty secue, with varied beauty glow. 

XX. 

Then slowly climb the many-winiliug way. 
And frequent turn to linger as you go, 
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey. 
Anil rest ye at " Our Lady's House of \\'oo ; "* 
Where frugal monks their little relics show. 
And sundry legends to the stranger tell : 
Here impious men have punish'it been, and lo ! 
Deep in yon cave llouorius long did dwell, 
In hope to 'merit Heaven by making earth a Ilell. 

» The oonvent of " Our Lady of Punishment,"' JVossa Senora de Pena, on the 
suniinit of the rock. Uelow, at some distance, Is the ("orti Convent, where St. 
llouorius (luir liis lion, over wliidi is liis epitapli. From tlio liills, tlic sea jul^ls 
to the l)oautv of llic view. 



CANTO I.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 5(51 

XXI. 

Alul here and there, as up the craf>-s von spring, 
Mark many rude-earvccl crosses near the pathT 
"iet (loeni not tiicse devotion's offering— 
These are memorials frail of murdcnuis wrath : 
For wheresoe'cr the shrieking victim hath 
Pour'd forth his hlood beneath the assassin's knife, 
Some hand erects a cross of nionldering hith; 
Anil grove ujid glen with thousand such are rife 
Throughout tins purple land, where law secures not life!* 

XXII. 

On sloping mounds, or in the vale beneath, 
Are domes where whilom kings did make repair- 
But nowthe wild (lowers round them only breathe- 
let ruin'd splendor still is lingering tlierc, ' 

And yonder towers the Prince's pahice fair- 
There thoii too, Vathek! England's wealthiest son, 
Once lorni d tiiy I'aradise, as nol aware 
A\ hen wanton Wealth her niiglitiest deeds hath done, 
Meek 1 eace voluptuous lures was ever wont to shun. 

XXIII. 

Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of jilcasurc plan 
Beneath yon mountain's ever i)eaiiteous brow • ' 

But now, as if a thing nnblest by Man, ' 

Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as "tliou ! 
Here giant weeds a jiiissagc scarce allow 
To halls deserted, port;ds gaping- wide; 
Fresh lessons to the Ibinkmg bosom, li'ow 
Vain are the pleasaunces on earth suii])Iicd; 
Swept mto wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide. 

XXIV. 

Behokl the hall where chiefs were late convened • f 
Oil ! dome displeasing unto British eve! 
With ihailem bight foolscap, lo ! a fiend, 
A httle liend that scoff's incessantly. 
There sits in parchment robe array'd, and by 
His side is hung a seal and sable scroll. 
Where blazon'd glare names known to 'chivalry 
And sunihy signatures adorn the roll, 
A\ hercat tin- Urchin points, and laughs with all his soul. 

J^ V /',:? ^;''ll-'^"''":" .f"ct tliat in the year 1809. the .assassinnti.n.s in f 1ip st-.-ots 
of Li.sliou ioul ll^ vicMiit.v were iH)t foiifincit Itv tile I-odii-Mos,. to tli i ■ „iiVi , v. 
nu.,., I,„ timt Ka.disl,„K.„ vver. daily h„tclu.n.,l; MUd !! u- V, / rr, -..s ' e I. 

(U'lcmlM,;; himself a-ainst his allies. I was oiiee stopne'l tie w'v t t?o 

leatre at ei^iit <, dock in the cveaing, ,rheu the street were' nrnric em, tv 

V^ K<->>erally are at that h..nr. opposite to an open shop, anil ,7 rear- 'e 

th V si;; ;m'};,v? "'-'.'"'•'»■'«''■'> b'=<'" arme,l. I 'have no't the least I, lit 

that ne slioulil have '■ aiiorned a tale " instead of lellinj; one. The enme o*" 

!M';'.f,"h.'iH"\'".""S""""'''' '«-I''"-t"S"'= i" .Sieilyand Malta we are k eke i 

pilnishelu " '"""''*'""" "^'=™'''« "'S''''-^-' •■""> ""t a Sicilian or Maltese is ever 

+ The Convention of Cintra was signed in tlic palace of the Marchose JIarialva. 



562 CllILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto i. 

XXV. 

Convention is the dwarfish demon styled 
That i'oil'il the knii^hts in Mai-ialva's dome : 
Of brains (if brains they had) he them befi'iiilcd, 
And tiirn'd a nation's shallow joy to fj'loom. 
Here Folly dasii'd to earth the vietor's plume, 
And Poliej'^ vegain'd what Arms had lost: 
For chiefs like ours in vain may laurels bloom ! 
Woe 1(1 the ednqueriiiL;', not the eontiuer'd host, 
Sinee baffled Triunipli drotips on Lusitaniu's coast. 

XXVI. 

And ever since that martial synod met, 
l?rit-annia sickens, Cintra! at thy name; 
And folks in office at the mention fret, 
And fain woidd blush, if blush tliev could, for shame. 
How will iiostei'ity the deed proclaim! 
Will not our own and lellow-nations sneer, 
To view these ehanipions cheated of their fame. 
By foes in flight o'erdn-own, yet victors here, 
Where 8corn lier linger points through many a coming year ? 

xxvn. 
So deem'd the Childe, as o'er the mountains he 
Did take his way in solitary guise : ^ 

Sweet was the scene, yet soon he thought to llec, 
Mm-e restless than tiic swallow in the skies : 
Though here awhile he learn'd to moralize. 
For Meditation fix'd at times on him, 
And conscious Reason whisper'd to despise 
His early youth misspimt in matldest wliim ; 
But as he gazed on truth his aching eyes grew dim. 

XXVIII. 

To horse I to horse ! he ipiits, for ever quits 
A scene of jteace, though soothing to his soul : 
Again ho rouses from his moping fits, 
But seeks not now the harlot and the bowl. 
C)nward he Hies, nor iix'd as yet the goal 
Where he shall rest jiim on his jnlgrimage; 
And o'er him many changing scenes must roll 
Ere toil his thirst for travel can assuage, 
Or he shall calm his breast, or learn experience sage. 

XXIX. 

Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay. 
Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen;* 
And church and court did mingle their array, 
And mass and ri'vei were alternate seen, 
Lorillings and freres— ill-sorted fry, I ween ! 
But here the Babylonian whore hath built 
A dome, where Haunts she in such glorious sheen, 
That men forget the blood which she hath spilt, 
And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt. 

» Ilor luckless Slniesty wont sulisoinu-iilly mnd: ami Pr. Willis, who so dex- 
terously cudgoUcU kingly pcricranuiius, could uiake nothing of hurs. 



c/*iTO I.] CIJILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. ;-,G3 

XXX. 

O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, 
(Oil that sueii hills iiphehl a frec-l)()rii rare I) 
\\'iiere()ii to ^azi; llie eye with joyaunce tills, 
( liilcle Harold weuds tiiruiij;h many a pleasant place. 
Tlioui,''h sluii'i^'ards deem it but a foolish chase, 
And marvel men shoukl quit their easy-chair, 
The toilsome way, anil lonji', long lea;z'ue to trace, 
Oh ! tiierc is sweetness in the mountain air, 
Aucl life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share. 

XXXI. 

More bleak to view the iiills at len;^th recede. 
And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend; 
Innnense horizon-bounded )ilains succeed! 
Far as tiie eye disceins, witiiouten end, 
Sjiain's realins a|ipea.r whereon iier sh(;phcrds tend 
Flocks, whose rich llcece right well the trader knows — 
Now must the pastor's arm his hunbs defend : 
For Spain is comiiass'd by rnyieliling foes. 
And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's woes. 

XXXII. 

Where I^usitania and her Sister meet. 
Deem ye what, boumls tiie rival I'ealms divide ? 
Or ere the jealous (pieens of nations greet. 
Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide ? 
Or dark sierras rise in craggy pi-iilc ? 
Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? 
Ne liari-ier wall, ne river deep and wide, 
Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, 
Rise like the rocks tliat part llispania's laud from Gaul : 

XXXIII. 

But these between a silver streamlet glides. 
And scarce a name distinguishcth the brook. 
Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. 
Here leans Ihi^ idle shepherd on his crook, 
Ami vacant on the ripiiling waves doth look. 
That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest focmen How; 
For proud (!ach jjcasant as the noblest duke : 
Well doth the Spanish hind the ditl'erence know 
Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low.* 

XXXIV. 

But ere the mingling bounds have far been jjass'd, 

Dark Guadiana rolls his power along 

In sullen billows, murmuring and vast. 

So noted ancient roundelay's among. 

Whilom upon his banks did legions throng 

Of Moor and Knight, in mailed splendor ilrest: 

• As I fDUiui tlio PortiiKHcso, so I liave ctiaracterizcd them. Tlmt th('\- arc 
siiio! In'wrovcd, at loast ill courage, is evident. 'I'lic l:il<' ix|iliiits cjC l>iird \\ ol- 
hngtoii liavo eH'aeed tlie follies of t'iiitra. He Iki.s, iiid<cd, done %vou(lci'.s : lie 
has, perhaps, cluuiyed tlie elmracter of :i n;\tioii, riTouciled rival Miiierstitions, 
ailU bttulcci an cncuiy who never retreated before his predecessors.— ISIJ. 



5Gi CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto i. 

Here ceased the swift their race, liere sunk the stroiiir ; 
The Paynim tiirbau and the Christian crest 
Mix'd on the bleeding' stream, by floating liosts oppress'd. 

XXXV. 

Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd, romantic land ! 
Where is that standard which Pclauio bore, 
When Cava's traitor-sire first callM the band 
That dyed thy mountain-streams with Gothic soi'e ?* 
Where are those bloody banners which of 3'ore 
Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, 
And drove at last the spoilers to their sliore ? 
Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, 
While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' v/ail. 

XXXYI. 

Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale ? 
Ah ! such, alas ! the hero's amplest fate ! 
When granite moulders and wlien records fail, 
A peasant's plaint prolongs his dul)ious date. 
Pride ! bend thine eye from heaven to tliine estate, 
See how the mighty shrink into a song ! 
Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great ? 
Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, 
When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History^oes thee wrong ? 

XXSYHc 

Awake, ye sons of Spain ! awake ! advance 
Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ; 
But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance. 
Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies: 
Now on the smol<c of Ijlazing i)olts she flies. 
And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar! 
In every pcMl she calls — " Awake ! arise ! " 
Say, is her voice more feeble than of jore. 
When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ? 

XXXVIII. 

Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note } 
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? 
Saw yc not whom the reeking sabre smote ; 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 
Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? — the fires of death, 
The halc-fires flash on high : — from rock to rock 
Each volley tells that thousantls cease to breathe ; 
Death rides upon the sulphui'y Siroc, 
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. 

XXXIX. 

Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, 
His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun. 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon; 

* Count Julian's daufrhter, the Helen of Spain. Pelagius presen-ed his in- 
dependence in tlie fastnesses of the Asturias, and the descendants of his fol- 
lowers, after some centuries, completed tlieir sti'uggle by the conquest of 
Ureiiada. 



CAXTO I.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 

Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now auon 
FIasliin<r afar,— and at his iron feet 
Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ; 
For on this morn three potent nations meet. 
To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. 

XL. 

By Heaven! it is a splendid sijiht to sec 
(For one who hath no friend, no brotlier there) 
Their rival scarfs of mix'd endn'oiderv, 
Their various arms that glitter in the air ! 
"What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, 
And gnash their fangs, loud veiling for the prcv ! 
All join the chase, but few tlie triumph share; " 
The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away. 
And Havoc scarce for joy can number their ari-ay. 

XLI. 

Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 
Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; 
Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue sicies ; 
The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory ! 
The foe, the victim, and the fond ally 
That fights for all, but ever fights in'vain. 
Are met— as if at home they could not die — 
To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, 
Aud fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. 

XLII. 

There shall they rot— Ambition's honor'd fools ! 
Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay. 
Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools, 
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 
By myriads, Avhen they dare to pave their wav 
With human hearts— to what ?— a dream alone. 
Can tlespots compass aught that hails their sway ? 
Or call with truth one span of earth their own," 
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone ? 

XLIII. 

O Alliuera, glorious field of grief! 
As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed, 
Who could foresee thee, in a space so brief, 
A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed! 
Peace to the perish'd ! may the warrior's meed 
And tears of triumph their reward prolong ! 
Till others fall where other chieftains leacF, 
Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, 
And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song. 

XLIV. 

Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play 
Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame : 
Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay. 
Though thousands fall to deck some single name. 



565 



5G6 CUILDK HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto i. 

In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim 
Who strike, lilest liireliiiji-s ! for their eountrv's pood, 
And die, tiiiil livin;^' niiulit liave proved her shame; 
I'erish'd, perrhaiiee, in some domestit- lend. 
Or in a narrower sphere wild Kaiiiue's j)aih pursued. 

XLV. 

Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way 
\\'here proud ^Sevilla triumi>lis iinsuhdiunl : 
Yet is she free — tlie spoiler's wisliM-for prey! 
.Soon, soon shall C'onciuesl's fiery loot intrude, 
lilael<eninii' her lovely domes, wiJi traees rude. 
Inevitable liour! '(iaiust fate to stri.e 
Where Desolation ]ilants her famisl.'d brood 
Is vain, or llion, Tyre, niiji'ht yet survive, 
Anil \'irlue vaiupiish all, and Murder cease to thrive. 

-XLVI. 

lint all iineonscious of the eomini;' doom, 
1'he feast, the soni;', tiie revel here abounds; 
fslranue modes of nierrinunit the hours consume. 
Nor lilecil these patriots with their country's wounds : 
Nor here War's clarion, l)ut Love's rebek sounds; 
Here Folly still his votaries enthralls; 
And younj;-eyi'(l Lewihu'ss walks her miilfii^'ht rounds; 
(iirt wilii the silent criuu's of capitals. 
Still to tiie last kind Vice cliiii;s to the tottering walls. 

XI.VII. 

Not so the rustic — with his tremblin};' mate 
He lurks, nor i-asts his heavy eye afar, 
Lest he should vii'W his vineyard desolate, 
IJlasted below the dun hot breath of war. 
No more iicuealh soft Eve's consenting star 
Faudaugv) twirls his jocund Castanet: 
Ah, niouarehs ! eouhl ye taste the mirth ye mar, 
Not in tlie toils of (ilory would ye fret; 
The hoarse dull drum woiild sleep, and Man be happy yet. 

XLVIII. 
How carols now the lusty muleteer? 
Of lo\ c, roniMuce, dexolion is his lay. 
As whilom he was wont the leagues to cheer, 
His quick bells wildly Jingling ou the way ? 
No ! as he sjiceds, he chants " Viva el lley ! "* 
And checks his song to execrate (Jodoy, 
The royal witlol Charles, and curse the day 
\\'hen iirst .Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed bov. 
And gore-faced Treason sprung from her adulterate joy. 

* " Viva ol Koy Fcrnnnito! " Louk live Kins Forithiaiut! is tlic chorus of most 
of tlio S|iaiiisli pivtiiotio soiius. 'I'lioy are eliiolly in dispraise of tlie olil Kin^ 
C'liailos. ilio (Jiioen, and tlio rriiioo of Teaee. I liavo lieard many of tliem: 
some of ihc airs are tieauliliil. — Don Manuel liodoy, tlie Prhici/v ili' la J'as, of 
an aneient l>ul di-eayed family, was lioni at r>adajo'/,.ou the iVoiuiers of rortlisal. 
and was oriirinally iii the ranks of the Spanish guards; till his person attrauteU 
the iiueon's eyes, and raised Inm to the dukedom of Aloudia, I'ce., Ae. It is to 
this man that tiiu SpnniitrUs univursully impute tlic ruin of Uieir uouiitry. 



CANTO I.] ClIILDH IIAIiOLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 5(57 

XLIX, 

On yon lon^-, V-\v\ phiin, at. distance crowiiM 
M'itli cni^s, whci-con lliosc Moorish IuitcIs rest, 

Wide sc;iiici-M lioof-niiirks dinl llic wounded oi-I ,|. 

And, sciilhcd l.y (iiv, the ;iiVL'ns\v'!irirs darkcn'd vest' 
Tells that tlie foe was Aiidahisia's finest: 
Here was the camp, tlie waleh-lhinie, and the liost. 
Here the hohl jieasant slorni'd the dra^ion's nest; ' 
Sidl does he mark it willi liiinniiliani hoast, 
And points to yonder eh tls, whieli oft were won and lost. 

L. 

And whomsoe'er ;donu- tlie jiatii von meet 
]{ears in his cap the hadj;e of erinison hue,* 
AVhieh tells yon whom to shun and whom to f^Tcct : 
\V oe to the man that walks in pnhlie view 
AVithoiit of loyalty this token true: 
Sharp is the knife", and sudden is the stroke; 
And sorely would the (;allic foemiin rue. 
If suhlle poniimls, wrapt henealh the cloak, 
Could l)lunt the sabre's ed-e, or clear the cannon's smoke. 
M. 
At every turn Moi-ena's duskv heijilit 
Sustains aloft the battery's in)n load; 
And, far as mortal eye can compass si-^-ht, 
The mounlain-howilV.er, the broken road. 
The hrisllin-- palisade, the fosse o'erllow'd. 
The staticm'd bands, the never-vacant watch, 
The ma;ia/ine in roekv durance stow'd, 
The holslcr'd steed beneath the shed of thatch. 
The ball-jiiled pyramid, the ever-!)lazing maleh,t 
r.ii. 

Portenil tlie deeds to come :— hut lie wliose noil 

Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway, 

A moment pauseth ere he lifts the i-od; 

A little moment (lei;;nelh to delay: 

Soon will his le-ions sweep throii>;ii these their way; 

The West nuist own the Sconr^er of the world. " 

Ah, Spain ! how sad will be thv reckoniny-day, 

When soars (;aurs Vulture, w'ilh his winj-s uiifurl'd, 

And thou shalt view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurl'cl. 

I.III. 

And must thcv fall ? the yonn-', th(> proud, the i)rave, 

lo swell one bloated chief's unwholesome reign ? 

No step bi'twecn submission and a j:rave ? 

The rise of rapine and the fall of S^ain? 

And doth the I'ower that man adores ordain 

Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ? 

Is all that desperate Valor acts in vain ? 

And Counsel say-e, and patriotic Zeal, [steel ' 

The Veteran's skill, Youth's lire, and Manhood's heart of 

• 'The red cocl<iul<", witli " Kcnumdi, VII." in tlio cMitro. 

«nV^, .Ms'«vV',yi'; '."'"t'I '"'«■'■''■'■ "!',' '•'■^■""^■' ""• I'vran.idal tbrm in whiol, shot 
flidsliollsHiopdcd. Ilio hierru Moram was luitilKd in every dellle tln'ou-h 
wlilcli I passed on uiy way to Seville. ""ou^a 



568 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto i 



Is it for tliis tlie Spanish maid, arousctl, 
Hangs on the willow her unstrung' guitar, 
And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, 
Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war ? 
And she, whom once the semblance of a scar 
Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread. 
Now views the column-scattering bayonet jar, 
The falchion flash, and o'er the vet warm dead 
Stalks with Minerva's step where Mars might quake to tread. 

LV. 
Ye who shall marvel when yon hear her tale. 
Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, 
Mark VI her black eye tlui,t mocks her coal-black veil. 
Heard her liglit, lively tones in lady's liower, 
Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, 
Her fairy form, with more than female grace, 
Scarce would you deem that iSaragossa's tower 
Beheld her smile in Danger's (Jorgon face, 
Thiu the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. 

LVI. 

Her lover sinks — she sheds no ill-timed te«r; 
Her chief is slain — she fills his fatal post ; 
Her follows flee — she checks their base career ; 
The foe retires — she heads the sallying host : 
Who can appease like her a lover's <;host ? 
Who can avenge so well a leader's fall ? 
What maid retrieve when man's tliish'd hope is lost ? 
Who hang so fiercely on the fl3'ing Gaul ? 
Foil'd by a woman's hand, before a batter'd wall ?* 



Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, 
But form'd for all the witching arts of love : 
Though thus in arms they emulate her sons, 
And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 
'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, 
Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate : 
In softness as in firmness fiir above 
Remoter females, famed for sickening prate; 
Her mind is uoiiler sure, her charms perchance as great. 

LVIII. 

The seal Love's dimplins- finger hath impress'd 
Denotes how soft that chin wiiicli bears his touch : f 
Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest. 
Bid man be valiant ere he merit such ; 

* Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragossa, wlio by her valor elevated 
herself to the highest rank of heroines. When the aiithorWas at Seville, slie 
walketl daily on the i'ratlo, decorated with medals and orders, by command of 
the Junta. 

t " Sigilla in mento impressa Amoris diititnlo 

Vestigio demonstraut mollitudinem." — Aul. Gel. 



CANTO I.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 509 

Ilor o-l;uioc, how wildly beautiful ! how much 
llath Phu'hus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, 
Which n-lows yet smoother from his amorous clutch ! 
M'ho round the North for paler dames would seek ? 
IIow poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak'. 

LIX. 

Match me, ye climes ! which poets love to laud ; 
Match mc, ye harems of the land ! where now 
1 strike my strain, far distant, to applaud 
Beauties that even a cynic must avow ! 
Match me those houris, whom ye scarce allow 
To taste the gale lest Love should ride the winJ., 
With Spain's dark-glancing daughters — deign to know 
There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, ' 

His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angelically kind. 

LX. 

Oh thou, Parnassus ! whom I now survey, 
Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye, 
Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, 
But soaring snow-clad through thv" native skv, 
In the wild pomp of mountain majesty ! 
What marvel if 1 thus essay to sing ? 
The humblest of thy pilgrims passmg by 
Would gladly woo t'liine Echoes with his string. 
Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing. 

LXI. 

Oft have I dream'd of thee ! whose glorious name 
Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore : 
And now I view thee, 'tis, ahxs ! with shame 
That I in feeblest accents must adore. 
When I recount thy worshippers of yore, 
I tremble, and can only bend the knee ; 
Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, 
But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy 
In silent joy to think at last I'look on thee ! 

LXII. 

Happier in this than miuhtiest bards have been, 
Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, 
Shall I unmoved licliold the hullow'd scene, 
Which others rave of, though, tlicy know it not ? 
Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot. 
And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave. 
Some gentle sjiirit still pervades the spot. 
Sighs ill the gale, keeps silence in the cave, 
And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. 

Lxrir. 
Of thee hereafter. — Even amidst my strain 
I turn'd aside to pay my homage here ; 
Forgot the land, the sons, the maitls of Spain; 
Her fate, to every free-born bosom dear ; 



570 CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGBIMAGE. [canto i. 

And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. 
Now to my thcnic — hut iVoni thy holy haunt 
Let me some remnant, some memorial hear; 
Yield mc one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant, 
Nor let thy votar3-'s hope he deem'd an idle vaunt. 



But ne'er didst thou, fair Mount ! when Greece was young 
See round thy giant hasc a bri<ihter choir, 
Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung 
The Pythian hymn with more than mortal tire, 
Behold a train more fittinj; to inspire 
The song of love than Andalusia's maids, 
Nurst in the glowing lap of soft desire : 
Ah ! that to these were given such peaceful shades 
As Greece can still bestow, though Glory tiy her glades. 



Fair is proud Seville ; let her countrv boast 
Her strength, her wealth, her site ot^ ancient day- 
But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast. 
Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoi)le praise. 
Ah, Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! 
While boyish blood is mantling, who caij^capc 
The fascination of thy magic gaze ? 
A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, 
And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. 



When Paphos fell by Time — accursed Time ! 
The Queen who conquers all must yield to thee — 
The Pleasures tied, but sought as warm a clime ; 
And Venus, constant to her native sea. 
To nought else constant, hither deign'd to tice, 
And fix'il her shrine within these walls of white; 
Though not to one dome circuuiscribeth she 
Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, 
A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. 

LXVIt. 

From morn till night, from nij;ht till startled Morn, 
Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, 
The song is heard, the rosy garland worn ; 
Devices quaint, and frolics ever new, 
Tread on eacli other's kibes. A long adieu 
He bids to sober joy that here sojourns ; 
Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu 
Of true devotion monkish incense burns. 
And love and i)rayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. 

LXVIII. 
The Sabbath conies, a day of blessed rest; 
What hallows it upon this Christian shore? 
Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast : 
Hark! heard you not the forest monarch's roar? 



CANTO i] CHTLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. fy~\ 

Crashiii^^ tlic lanon, lie snuffs the spoutini;- gore 
Of man and steed, o'erthrowa l>cncath his horn; 
The tlirong'd arena shakes with shouts for more; 
Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, 
Nor shrinks the female eye, nor even atfects to mourn. 

LXIX. 

The seventh day this ; the jubilee of man. 
I.onilon! riulit well thou know'st the day of praj'er : 
Then thy sjiruce citizen, wash'd artisan. 
And smui;- apprentice gulp their weekly air : 
Thy coach of hackney, whiskey, onc-liorse chair, 
And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl ; 
To Ilampstead, Brentford, Harrow, make repair; 
Till the tireil jade the wheel I'lirgets to hurl. 
Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. 

LXX. 

Some o'er thy Tliamis row the riljbon'd fair. 
Others along the safer turnpike fly ; 
Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, 
And many to the steep of Highgate hie. 
Ask ye, Boeotian shades ! the reason why ? 
'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, 
Grasp'd in the holy hand of iSIystcry, 
In whose dread name both men and maids arc sworn, 
And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. 

LXX I. 

All have their fooleries — not alike are thine, 
Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea! 
Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine. 
Thy saint adorers count the rosar}- : 
IMiich is the ViKGiN teased to shrive them free 
(Well do I ween the only virgin there) 
From crimes as numci-ous as her beadsmen be ; 
Then to the crowded circus forth they fare : 
Young, olil, high, low, at once the same diversion share. 

LXXII. 

The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd. 
Thousands on thousands piled are seated round ; 
Long ore the first loud trumpet's note is heard, 
No vacant space for lated wight is found : 
Here dons, grandees, but cliiefly dames abound, 
Skill'd in the ogle of a roguisheye, 
Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound ; 
None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die. 
As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery. 

Lxxirr. 
Hush'd is the din of tongues — on gallant steeds. 
With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light poised lance. 
Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds, 
And lowly bending to the lists advance ; 



CIULDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto i. 

Eicli lire their scarfs, their charg-ers featly prance : 
If ill the ilan»erous game they shine to-day, 
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovelj' glance, 
Best prize of better acts, they bear away. 
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. 

LXXIV. 

In costly sheen and gaiuly cloak array'd. 
But all afoot, the light-liinb'd Matadore 
Stands in the centre, eager to invade 
The lord of lowing herds ; but not before 
The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, 
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed : 
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
Can man achieve without the friendly steed — 
Alas ! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. 

LXXV. 

Thrice sounds the clarion; lo ! the signal falls, 
The den expands, and Expectation mute 
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. 
Bounils with one lashing spring tlie mighty brute, 
And wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot. 
The sanil, nor hlintlly rushes on his foe : 
Here, there, he jioints his threatening front; to suit 
His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. 

LXXVI. 

Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd : away, 

Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear; 

Now is thy time, to perish, or display 

The skill that yet may check his mad career. 

With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer; 

On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes; 

Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear: 
■ He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes : 
Dart follows dart ; lance, lance ; loud bellowings speak his woes. 

LXXVII. 

Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail, 
Nor the wild plun^^ing of the tortured horse ; 
Though man anil man's avenging arms assail, 
Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force ; 
One gallant steed is stretcli'd a mangled corse; 
Another, hideous sight ! unscam'd appears. 
His gory chest unveils life's panting source; 
Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears; 
Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharm'd he bears. 

LXXVIII. 

Foil'd, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay, 
'Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast, 
And foes disabled in the brutal fraj' : 



CANTO I.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 573 

And now the Matatlorcs around him play, 
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand : 
Once more through all he bursts his thundering way — 
Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand, 
Wraps his fierce eye — 'tis past — be sinks upon the sand! 



Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine, 
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline : 
Slowly he falls amidst triumphant cries, 
AVithout a groan, without a struggle, dies. 
The decorated car iippcars — on high 
The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes — 
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as sh}'. 
Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by. 



Such the ungentle sport that oft invites 
The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain: 
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights 
In vengeance, gloating on another's pain. 
What private feuds the troubled village stain ! 
Though now one phalanx'd host should meet the foe. 
Enough, alas ! in humble homes remain. 
To meditate 'gainst friends tlie secret blow. 
For some slight cause of wrath, whence life's warm stream 
must flow. 



But Jealousy has fled : his bars, his bolts. 
His wither'd sentinel, Duenna sage ! 
And all whereat the generous soul revolts. 
Which the stern dotard deem'd he could encage. 
Have pass'd to darkness with the vanish'd age. 
Who late so free as Spanish girls were seen, 
(Ere War uprose in his volcanic rage,) 
With braided tresses bounding o'er the green. 
While on the gay dance shone Xight's lover-loving Queen .' 



Oh ! many a time and oft had Harold loved, 
Or dream'd he loved, since rapture is a dream; 
But now his wayward bosom was unmoved, 
For not yet had he drunk of Lethe's stream : 
And lately had he learn'd with truth to deem 
Love has no gift so grateful as liis wings : 
How fair, how young, how soft soe'er he seem. 
Full from the fount of Joy's delicious springs* 
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings. 

* " Medio tic fonte leporum, 

Surgit .imari aliquid quod in ipsis floribus angat." — Luc. 



574 ClIILDK llAROLirS riLGlUMAGE. [oanto i. 

l.XXXUI. 

Yot to till' l>0!UitiMMis t'linu l\i- w;is imt hliiul, 
'I'liiuiu'h now il moNi'd him ;i>i il ikonos tlu- wise; 
Not ti\:it riiilosinihy on sm-li ii uiiiul 
l\'or iloi.unM to beiiil \wv ohastoh' -awful eyes: 
.15ut I'a-isioii raves itself to rest, or Hies; 
Ami ^■i^■e, thiit ili^s lier own vohii'tuons tomb, 
Hail luirieil Iohl;' iiis iiopes, no more to rise: 
rieasure's iiallM vietim! Hfe-aliliori-iii^' ,i;looni 
M'role on liis taileil brow inirst train's nnrestinu' ilooin. 

I^XXXIV. 

still lie lielieUl, nor niiniileil with the throng; 
But viewM them not with misanthropie hate : 
Fain would he now have joinM the lianee, the sont;'; 
Knt who may smile that sinks henealh his late ? 
>»oui>ht that he saw his sadness eonld ahate : 
Yet onee he slru^'i^led 'fi'ainst the demon's sway. 
And as in Keauty's hower he (lensive sate, 
I'ourM forth this unprei\iedilated lay. 
To ehiirms as fair as those that soothed his hapnier day. 



TO INEZ. 

1. 
"Nay, smile noi at my sullen brow; 

Alas! 1 I'annot smile auain; 
\i-t Heaven avert that ever thou 

jihonldst weep, and haply weep in vain. 

2. 

And dost tluMi ask, what seeret woe 
I hear, eorrodiuL;- Joy and \ouih ? 

And wilt thou vainly seek to" know 
A panj;', even thoii must tail to soi>the ? 



It is not love, it is not hate. 

Nor low Amhitioii's honors lost. 

That l>ids me loatiie my present state, 
And tly from all I i>ri/.ed the most; 

•I. 

It is that weariness whieh spi'in^'s 
From all 1 meet, or liear, or see : 

To me no pleasure Beauty hriuii's; 
Thine eves have seareea eharm t\ir me. 



It is that settled, ivaseless uloom. 
The fabled Hebrew wauilerer bore; 

That will not look beyond the tomb, 
Hut eaimot hope for rest before. 



CANTO I.] CIIJLDE lIAItOLD'S rilAlUlMAGE. r^'Jf^ 

G. 

What Evile from liiiiisoU' can flee ? 

To zones, 11ioiih>i nudv and more r(Min)to, 
iSlill, slill |)iirsn<'s, wlKTc'cr i l)c, 

The l)li;;i)t of lil'u— Ihe demon liionj;l)t. 

Yet others rapt in jileasiwc seem, 

And taste of all (iiat I forsake; 
Oh! nniy they still of transport droam, 

And iiu'or, at least like me, awake ! 

8. 
Thron^»'h many a clime 'tis mine to <j;o, 

With many a red'ospeetion cnrsl; 
And all my solace is to know, 

VVliale'er hetidcs, I've known the worst. 

9. 
What is that worst? Nay, do not ask — 

In pily from Ihe search l'orli<';ir: 
.Smile on — nor venture to nnniask 

Man's heart, and view Ihe lloll that's iherc. 

LXXXV. 

Adieu, fair Cadiz ! yea, a, lon;^ adieu ! 
Who mav for;;cl lulw well tiiy walls have stood? 
When all were chan;iin^- thoii alone wert true. 
First to he free, and last to he siibditcd : 
And if amidst a scene, ii shock so rude, 
.Some native hlood was seen thy streets to dve; 
A traitor only fell beneath the "feud :* 
Here all were noble, save Nobility; 
None hii^^f^'d a coii(]uer(ji's chain, save fallen Chivaliy ! 

LXXXVl. 

Such be the sons of Spain, and stranjjc her fate! 
They iinht for freedom, who were never free; 
A kinj;less jn'oplc; for a nerveless state, 
Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee. 
'J'rue to the veriest slaves of Tretichery ; 
Fond of a, land which ;iives tlu'in noui;ht but life, 
I'ride points the path that leads to liberty; 
Mack to the struj^'jile, battled in the strife; 
War, war is still the cry, " War even t(j the knife ! "f 

i.xxxvri. 

Yo, who would mure of Spain and Si)a-niards know, 
Cio, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife : 
Whatc'er ki'cn Vcn;;'cance uri^'cd on forei;^li foe 
Can act, is aclin;;- there a;^ainst nnin's life : 
From Hashing scimitar to secret knife, 

•^ AUuiliiig to the conduct nnd death of Solano, tlio Rovcrnor of Cadiz, in May, 
t I'nlafox's answer to the Froncli general at tlio siege of Saragossa. 



576 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto i. 

War inoiildeth there each weapon to his need — 
So may he guard the sister and tiie wile, 
So may he make eaeh curst oppressor bleed, 
So may sucii foes deserve the most remorseless deed ! 

LXXXVIII. 

Flows there a tear of pity for the dead ? 
Look o'er tlie ravage of tiic reeking plain : 
Look on tlie hands with female slaughter red ; 
Then to the dogs resign the uuburicd slain. 
Then to the vulture let eaeh corse remain; 
Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, 
Let their liloaeh'd i)ones, and blood's nnbleaching stain, 
Long mark the battlefield with hideous awe : 
Thus only maj- our sons conceive the scenes we saw ! 

LXXXIX. 

Nor yet, alas ! the dreadful work is done ; 
Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees : 
It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, 
Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. 
Fallen nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees 
More than her fell Pizarros once enehain'd : 
Strange retribution ! now Columbia's ea^e- 
Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustain'd. 
While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder uurestrain'd. 

xc. 

Not all the blood at Talavera shed, 
Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight, 
Not Albuera lavisli of the dead, 
Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. 
When shall her Olivc-Bi-anch be free from blight ? 
When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil ? 
How many a doubtful day shall sink in night^ 
Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, 
And Freedom's strauger-trec grow native of the soil ? 

XCI. 

And thou, my friend! — since unavailing woe 
Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain — 
Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, 
Pride might forbid e'en Friendship to complain : 
But thus unlaurell'd to descend in vain, 
By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, 
And mix unblecding with the boasted slain, 
While glory crowns so many a meaner crest! 
What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest ? 

XCII. 

Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most ! 
Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear ! 
Though to my hoiieless days for ever lost, 
In dreams deny me not to see thee here ! 
And Morn in secret shall renew the tear 
Of Consciousness awaking to her woes, 



CANTO 11.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMACE. r^'J'J 

And Fancy liovcr o'or fliy bloodless bier, 
Till my iVail iVaino ix'lurii to wlicnec it rose, 
And mouni'd aad mourner lie united in repose. 

XCIII. 

Here is one fytte of Harold's pil-rrimape : 
Ye who of him may further seek to know, 
Shall find some tidinLjs in a future piij^-c, 
If he that rhynieth now may scribble moe. 
]•* tliis too mueh ? stern Critic! say not so : 
Tatienee ! and ye sliuil hear what "he beheld 
In other lands where he was doom'd to t;o : 
^ Lanils that contain the monuments of Eld, 
Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barl)ai-ous hands were quell'd. 



CANTO THE SECOND. 
I. 
Come, bine-eyed rnaid of heaven !— but thou, alas ! 
I»id-t never yet one mort^d son;^- in-^pire — 
GoiKless of Wisdom! here thy temple was, 
And is, despite of wai' and wastinji' tire,* 
And years, that bade thy worship to expire: 
But worse than steel, and fJame, and lyxcs slow 
Is the dread seejitre and dominion dire 
Of men who never Iclt the sacred jrlow 
That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts bestow. 

II. 

Ancient of days ! aujrust Athena ! where,t 
Where are thy men of might ? thy yrand in so\d : 

* Part of the Acropolis was destroyed by the explosion of a ma"azine dirins 
the Venetian sippre. ' ^ 

t Wc can nil feel, or imagine, the regret with wluVh the ruins of cities once 
the capitals of einpires. an' lieheld; the reflections simr;,.st,.d hy S)ich oOjects are 
too trite to rec|iiire reeapimlatiori. iJm never liid the littleness of man 'and tlie 
vanity of liis very Ijest virtues— of patriotism tn exalt, and of valor to defend la's 
country— appear more conspicMous tlian in the record of wli.it Vlliens was and 
the certainty of what she n.nv is. This theativ of contention hetween miifhtv 
factions, of the stnif:f.des of orators, tlie exaltation and deposition of tyrants 
tlie traimpli and punishment of fjenerals, is now tx'come a scene of petlv in- 
trigue and perpetual dislurliancc, between the bickerimra-fonts of certain I'.ritish 
nolidity and iientry. •' Tlip wild foxes, the owls and serpents in the rnins of 
Habylon," were surely less defrradin^' than such inhabitants. The Turks have 
the plea of coiU|iiest for their ivrainiv, and the (irecdcs have oidv sntlered the 
fortune of war incidental to the hravi'st ; but liow are the mit;litv fallen when 
two painters contest the privileye of phniderinc the Parthenon, aiid triumph in 
turn, aeeordniir to the tenor of each siicceedinj; lirtuan ! .S\ Ila eoidd but inniish 
I'hdip subdue, and Xerxes l)urn .Mlieus: but it remained for the paltry ;inti(|ua- 
ruiu, aiul bis despicable a.yents, to render her contemptible as liiinself and 
his pursuits. The Parthenon, before its destructi(m in part bv tire durins the 
\cnetian siepe, had l)een a temjde, a church, and a mosriue. In each point of 
view it is an object of regard : it changed its worshippers, hut still it was a place 
of worship thrice sacred to devoticni: its violation is a triple sacrifice. Uul— 
" .Man, proud man, 
Press'd In a little brief authoritv, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven 
As make the angels weep." 
37 



578 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto ii. 

Gone — glimmcrini!: throuoh the dream of things that were : 
Fii'st iu the race that led to Glory's goal, 
They won, and pass'd away — is this the whole ? 
A schoolboy's talc, the wonder of an hour ! 
The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole 
Arc sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, 
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. 

III. 

Son of the morning, rise ! approach you here! 
Come — but molest not yon defenceless uru : 
Look on this spot — a nation's sepulchre ! 
Abode of gods, whose shrines no longer burn. 
Even gods must yield — religious take their turn ; 
'Twas Jove's — 'Tis Mohammed's — and other creeds 
Will rise with other years, till man shall learn 
Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds; 
Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds. 



Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven — 
Is't not enough, unhappy thing! to know 
Thou art ? Is this a l>oon so kindly given, 
That being, thou wouldst be again, and go, 
Thou know'st not, reck'st not to what region, so 
On earth no more, but mingled with the skies! 
Still wilt thou dream on future joy and woe ? 
Regard and wei^h yon dust before it flics : 
That little urn saith more than thousaud homilies. 



Or burst the vanisli'd Hero's lofty mound ; 
Far on the solitary shore he sleeps :* 
He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around ; 
But now not one of saddening thousands weeps. 
Nor warlike worshipper his vigil keeps 
Where demi-goils appear'd, as records tell. 
Eemove yon slcuU from out the scatter'd heaps : 
Is that a temple where a Goil may dwell ? 
Why, even the worm at last disdains her shatter'd cell ! 

VI. 

Look on its broken arch, its niin'd wall, 
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : 
Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall. 
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul : 
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole. 
The gay recess of \\'istlom and of Wit, 
And Passion's host, that never brook'd control : 
Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ. 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit .-' 

* It was not always the custom of the Greeks to biu'n their dead; the greater 
Ajax, in particular, was interred entire. Almost all the chiefs became gods after 
tlieir decease; and he was indeed neglected, who had not annual games near his 
tomb, or festivals in honor of his memory Ijy his countrymen, as Achilles, 
Brasidus, ifcc, and at last even Antinous, whose death was as heroic as his 
life was infamous. 



CA>iTo 11.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 579 

VII. 

Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! 
"All that we know is, nothing can be known." 
"Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun ^ 
Each hath his jiang, but feeble sutterers groan 
With brain-born dreams of evil all their own. 
Pursue what Ohance or Fate proclaimeth best; 
Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron : 
There no forced banquet claims the sated gi'^st, 
Rut Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome r'ict. 

vm. 

Yet if, as holiest men have deera'd, there be 
A land of souls beyond that sable shore, 
To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee 
And sophists, madly vain of dubious ic; e ; 
How sweet it were in concert to adore 
With those who made our morts.1 labors J-ght! 
To hear each voic3 we fear'd to hear no more ! 
Behold each ~iiglity shade reveal'd to sight, 
''he Bactrian, Samiau "iigc, and all who taught the right ! 

IX. 

There, thou !— whoso love and life together fled, 
Have icft mfc here to love and live in vain — 
Ttvined with my heart, and can I deem thee dead, 
When busy memory flashes on my brain ? 
Well — I will dream that we may meet again, 
And woo the vision to my vacant breast : 
If aught of young Kemembrancc then remain, 
Be as it may Futurity's behest. 
For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest ! 

X. 

Here let me sit upon this massy stone. 
The marble column's yet unshaken base ! 
Here, son of Saturn ! was thy favorite throne ! * 
Mightiest of many such ! Hence let me trace 
The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place. 
It may not be ; nor even can Fancy's eye 
Restore what Time hath labor'd to deface. 
Yet these jiroud pillars claim no passing sigh ; 
Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols by, 

XI. 

But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane 
On high, where Pallas linger'd, loth to flee, 
The latest relic of her ancient reign; 
The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he ? 
Blush, Caledonia ! such thy son could be ! 
England ! I joy no child he was of thine : 
Thy free-born men shoidd spare what once was free ; 
Yet they could violate each saddening shrine, 
And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine. 

• 'Hie temple of Jupiter Olympus, of which sixteen columns, entirely of mar- 
Iiie, yot survive: oriyiiuilly there were one iiundred iiiul tlfty. These columns, 
however, are by many supposed tu have belonged to the rantheon. 



580 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto ii. 



But most the modern Pict's iji'nohlc boast, 
To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath spared : 
CoUl as the crairs upon his native coast, 
His mind as Ixirren and his heart as liard, 
Is he whose head conceived, whose hand prepared, 
Aught to disphice Athena's poor remains : 
Her sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, 
Yet felt some portion of their motlicr's pains, 
And never knew, till then, tiie weig'ht of Despot's chaius. 

XIII. 

"What ! shall it e'er be said by British tongue, 
Alliion was happy in Athena's tears ? 
Though in thy name the slaves her bosom wrung', 
Tell not the deed to blushing- Europe's ears; 
The ocean queen, the free Britannia, bears 
The last poor plunder from a bleeding land : 
Yes, she, whose generous aid her name endears, 
Tore down those remnants with a harpy's hanil, 
Which envious Eld forbore, aud tyrants left to stand. 

XIV. 

"Where was thine ^Egis, Pallas ! that appall'd 
Stern Alaric and Havoc on their waj- ? * ^ 
Where Peleus' sou ? whom Hell in vain enthrall'd, 
His shade from Hades upon that dread day 
Bursting to light in terrible array ! 
What ! could not Pluto spare the chief once more, 
To scare a second roliber from his prey ? 
Idly he wander'd on the Stygian shore. 
Nor now preserved the walls he loved to shield before. 

XV. 

Cold is the heart, fair Greece! that looks on thee, 
Nor feels as lovers o'er the dust they loved ; 
Dull is the eye that will not weep to" sec 
Thy walls defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed 
By British hands, which it had best behoved 
To giuird those relics ne'er to be restored. 
Curst be the hour when from their isle they roved, 
And once again thy hapless bosom gored, 
And snatch'd thy shrinking gods to northern climes abhorr'd! 

XVI. 

But where is Harold ? Shall I then forget 
To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave ? 
Little rcck'd he of all that men regret; 
No loved one now in feign'd lament could rave; 
No friend the parting hand extended gave, 
Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes : 
Hard is his heart whom charms may not enslave ; 
But Harold felt not as in other times, 
And left without a sigh the land of war and crimes. 

* According to Zosimus, Miuorva and Achilles frightened Alaric from the 
Acropolis; Ijut others relate that the Gothic king was nearly as mischievous as 
the Scottish peer. — .See Chandler. 



>^ANTO 11.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 581 

XVII. 

lie that has sailM upon the dark bhie sea, 
lias view'il at thiics, I wccn, a full fair si^ht; 
When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be, r — 

The wliite sail set, the gallant friji'ate tiyiit; ^ 

Masts, spires, and strand retiring to the right. 
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow, 
The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight, 
The dullest sailer wearing bravely now, 
So gaily curl the waves before eacli dashing prow. 



And oh, the little warlike world within ! 
The well-recvcd guns, the netted canopy,* 
The hoarse command, the busy humming din. 
When, at a word, the tops are mann'd on high : 
Hark to the Boatswain's call, the cheering cry ! 
While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides ; 
Or schoolboy Midshipman that, standing by, 
Strains his shrill pipe, as good or ill betides, 
And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides. 

XIX. 

White is the glassy deck, without a stain, 
Where on the watch the staid Lieutenant walks : 
I^ook on that part which sacred doth remain 
For the lone Chieftain, who majestic stalks. 
Silent and fear'd by all — not oft he talks 
With aught beneath him, if he would preserve 
That strict resti'aint, which In'oken, ever balks 
Conquest and i'amc ; but Eritons rarely swerve 
From law, however stern, which tends their strength to nerve. 

XX. 

Blow ! swiftly blow, thou keel-compelling gale ! 
Till the broad sun withdraws his lessening ray; 
Then must the pennant-bearer skicken sail. 
That lagging barivs may nialve their lazy way. 
Ah ! grievance sore, and listless dull delay. 
To waste on sluggish hulks the sweetest breeze ! 
What leagues are lost Ijefore the dawn of day. 
Thus loitering pensive on the willing seas. 
The flapping sail haul'd down to halt for logs like these ! 



The moon is up ; by Heaven a lovelj' eve ! 
Long streams of light o'er dancing waves expand; 
Now lads on shore may sigh, and maids l)elieve : 
Such be our fate Avhen we return to land ! 
Meantime some rude Arion's restless hand 
Wakes the brisk harmony that sailors love ; 
A circle there of merry listeners staml. 
Or to some well-known measure featly move, 
Thoughtless, as if on shore they still were free to rove. 

* To prevent blocks or splinters from falling on deck dnrin!; action. 



58>? CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [caNto ii. 

XXII. 

Throiioh Calpc's straits survey tlic stccpy shore; 
Europe and AtVic on each other j^aze ! 
Lands of the dark-eyed ]\Iaid and (hisky Moor 
Alike beheld beneath pale Hecate's l)laze : 
How softly on the Spanish shore she plays, 
Diselosin<;' roek, and slope, and forest brown, 
Distinct, thoiiuh darkening- with her waning' phase; 
Unt Mauritania's giant-shadows frown. 
From niountaia-clilf to coast descending sombre down. 



'Tis night, when Meditation bids us feel 
We once have loved, though love is at an end : 
The heart, lone mourner of its battted zeal, 
Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend. 
Who with the weight of years would wish to i)eiKl, 
When Youth itself survives young Love and joy ? 
Alas! when mingling souls ibrgct to blend, 
Death hath but little left him to destroy ! 
Ah ! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy 



Thus bending o'er the vessel's laving side^ 
To gaze on Dian's wavc-rctiectcd sphere, 
The soul forgets her schemes of Hope and Pride, 
And Hies unconscious o'er each backward year. 
None are so desolate but something dear, 
Dearer than self, possesses or possess'tl 
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear; 
A ilashing pang ! of which the weary breast 
Would still, albeit in vain, the heavy heart divest. 



To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, 
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, 
Where tilings that own not man's dominion dwell, 
And mortal foot liath ne'er or rarely been ; 
To cliiul) the trackless mountain all unseen, 
With the wild flock that never needs a fold; 
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; 
This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold 
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stoi'cs unroll '1 

XXVI. 

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, 
To hear, to see, to fei'l, and to possess, 
And roam along, the world's tired denizen. 
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; 
IMinions of splendor shrinking from distress ! 
None that, with kindred consciousness endued, 
If wc were not, would seem to smile the less 
Of all that llalter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued; 
This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude I 



c.vNTo II.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 533 

XXVII. 

More blest the life of godly eremite, 
Such iis on lonely Athos niay be seen, 
"W'atcliinji' at eve upon the ff'iant height, 
^\ hicli looks o'er waves so blue, skies so serene, 
That he who there at such an hour hath been 
Will wistful liuuer on that liallowM spot; 
Then slowly tear him from the 'witcliinji' scene, 
Sijih forth one wish that such had been his lot, 
Then turn to hate a woiid he hud almost forgot. 

XXVIII. 

Pass we the Ion"-, iinvaiyins' com-se, the track 
Oft trod, that never leaves a trace behind; 
Pass we the calm, the gale, the change, the tack, 
And each well-known caprice of wave and wind; 
I'ass we the joys and sorrows sailors find, 
Coiijied in their winged sea-girt citadel; 
The foul, the fair, the contrary, the kind. 
As breezes rise and fall and billows swell. 
Till on some jocund morn— lo, land ! and all is well. 

XXIX. 

But not in silence pass Calypso's isles,* 
The sister tenants of the middle deep; 
There for the weary still a haven smiles. 
Though the fair goddess long hath ceased to weep. 
And o'er her elites a fruitless watch to keep 
For him who dared prefer a mortal bride : 
Here, too, his boy cssay'd the dreadful leap 
^Stern Mentor urged from high to yonder tide; 
While thus of both bereft, the nymph-queen doubly sigh'd. 

XXX. 

Her reign is past, her gentle glories gone : 
But trust not this; too easy youth, beware ! 
A mortal sovereign holds her dangerous throne. 
And thou may'st find a new Calypso there. 
Sweet Florence ! could another ever share 
This wayward, loveless heart, it would he thine : 
But check'd by every tie, I may not dare 
To cast a worthless offering at thy shrine. 
Nor ask so dear a breast to feel one pang for mine. 

XXXI. 

Thus Harold deem'd, .as on that lady's eye 
He look'd, and met its beam without a thought. 
Save Admiration glancing harmless by : 
Love kept aloof, albeit not far I'eraote", 
Who knew his votary often lost and caught, 
But knew him as his worshipper no more. 
And ne'er again the boj' his bosom sought ; 
Since now he vainly urged him to adore. 
Well deem'd the little god his ancient sway was o'er. 

* Goza Is said to have been the island of Calypso. 



584 CniLDE nAROLD'S riLGRIM.iGE. [canto ii. 



Fair Florctirc lounil, in sooth with so-.ic ninazc, 
One who, 'twas said, still sijili'd to all ho saw, 
Withstand, luiinovcil, (ho lustre ot' her naze. 
Which others liail'd with real or niiniie awe, 
Their hope, their doom, their punishment, their law; 
All that ^:iy Beauty I'roui her hondsmi'u claims: 
And much she niarxeUM that a youth so raw 
Nor fell, nor l'ei;;nM at least, the oH-told llames, 
Which, though sometimes thoy iVown, vol rarely auger dames. 

XXXIII. 

Little knew she that scemiuir marble heart, 
Now inask'd in silence or withheld by pride, 
Was not uiiskilt"id in the spoiler's art. 
And spread its snares licentious far and wide; 
Nor from the base pursuit had turn'd aside, 
As loui:- as :ni!;ht was worthy to pursue : 
But Harold ou such arts no more relied; 
Aud had he doted on those eyes so l)hu>, 
Yet never would he join the lover's whining crew. 



Not much he kens, T ween, of woman's breast. 
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs; 
What carelli she for hearts when once posscssM ? 
l)o propi'r homage to thine idol's eyes; 
15ut not too humbly, or she will despise 
Thee and thy suit, though told in movini: tropes; 
Disguise even tenderness, if thou art wise; 
Brisk ('^>nfi^lence still best with woman copes; 
Pique her and soothe iit turn, soon Tassiou crowns thy hopes. 

XXXV. 

'Tis an ohl lesson ; Time approves it true, 
Aud (hose who know it lu'st deplore it most; 
M'heii all is won that all desire to woo, 
The paltry \ir\y.v is hardly wcu'th the cost: 
Youth wasted, minds degraded, honor lost, 
These are thy fruits, successful Passion ! these ! 
If, kindly cruel, early Hope is crost. 
Still to tiie last it rankles, a disease. 
Not to be cured when Love itself fo.gets to please. 

XXXVI. 

Away! nor let me loiter in my song. 
For we have many a mountain-path to tread, 
And many a varied shore to sail aloni;-, 
By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led — 
C'iinjes, fair withal as ever mortal head 
Imagined iu its little schemes of thought; 
C)r e'er in new Utopias were ared. 
To teach nnin what he niiu'ht be, or he ought; 
If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught. 



CANTO II.] CIIILDE II.UlOLJrS PILGniMlGE. ^85 

XXXVII. 

Di'iir X;itui'c is the kiiulest iiiotlior still, 
Tlioiiti'h always cliuii^iiiii;-, in licr aspect mild: 
Fi'oiu hor liaiv bosom let nie take my fill, 
Ilcr lU'vcr-wi'uuM, thoii^ili not licr I'avor'd child. 
Oh I she is fairest in her features wild, 
When' iiothiii;^' polisliM dares iHiUnte hei' \r..th: 
To me by day oi' iii;:lit she evef smiled, 
Tlioii;^li I have mark'd her when none other hath, 
And sought her more and more, and loved her best in wrath. 

xxxvm. 

I^and of .Vlbania ! whci-c Iskander rose ! 
Theme of the youn;^', and heaeon of the wise, 
And he his namesake, whose oft-baftletl foes 
Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprise: 
Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes 
On tlu'c, thou ruiiged nurse of sava;^e men! 
The cross <lescends, thy minarets arise, 
And the |)ale crescent sparkles in the glen, 
Through many a cypress grove within each city's ken. 

XXXIX. 

Chihlc Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot, 
A\'herc sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave;* 
And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot, 
The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. 
Dark Sappho! could not verse imnu)rt.'il save 
That breast imi)ued with such iunnortal fire ? 
C imld she not live who life eternal gave ? 
If life eternal may await the lyre, 
That only Heaven to which Earth's children may aspire. 

XL. 

'Twas on a (Ireeian autumn's gentle eve 
Childi' Harold hail'd Ijcucadia's cajie al'arjf 
A spot he long'd to see. nor eared to leave : 
Oft did he mark the scenes of vanish'd war, 
Actium, Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar :| 
^lark them umnoved, for he would not tlelight 
(Uorn beneath some remote iniilorious star)i 
In themes of bloody fray, or gallant fight, 
IJut loathed the brave's trade, and laugh'd at martial wight. 

XLI. 

But when he saw the evening star above 
Leucadia's far-]irqjecting rock of woe, 
Aiul hail'd the last resort of fruitless love. 
He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow : 

* Itliacn. 

t Lciuiulia, now Santa JInura. From the promontory (the Lover's Leap) 
Sappliii is said lo liavc tlirown liorsolf. 

X Actiiun aiul Trafalgiir nocil no further mention. Tlie hiittle of Lepanto, 
equally bloody and consideriilile, but loss known, was fonylit in the Uulf of 
Patras. Here the author of Don Quixote lost his left hand. 



586 CIIILDE HAROLD'S riLGRIMAGE. [canto ii. 

And as the stately vessel glided slow- 
Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount. 
He watch'd the billows' melancholy flow, 
And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont, 
More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. 

XLir. 
Morn dawns; and with it stern Albania's hills, 
Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland i)eak, 
Robed half iu mist, bedew'd with snowy rills, 
Array'd in many a dun and jiurple streak, 
Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break, 
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer : 
Here roams the wolf, the eagle whets his beak. 
Birds, Ijeasts of prey, and wilder men appear, 
And gathering storms around convulse the closing year. 

XLIII. 

Now Harold felt himself at length alone, 
And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu : 
Now he adventured on a shore unknown, 
Which all admire, but many dread to view : 
His breast was arm'd 'gainst fate, his wants were few; 
Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to «Ieet : 
The scene was savage, but the scene was new; 
This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet. 
Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed summer's heat. 

XLIV. 

Here the red cross, for still the cross is here. 
Though sadly scoti"d at by the circumcised, 
Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear ; 
Churchman and votary alike despised. 
Foul Superstition! liowsoe'er disguised, 
Idol, saint, virgin, jtrophet, crescent, cross, 
For whatsoever symbol thou art prized. 
Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss ! 
Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross ? 

XLV. 

Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost 
A world for woman, lovely, harmless thing! 
In yonder rippling bay, their naval host, 
Did many a Roman chief and Asian king* 
To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring: 
Look where tljc second C;T?sar's trophies rose ! t 
Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering ; 
Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes ! 
God ! was thy globe ordaiu'd for such to win and lose ? 

* it is said that, on the day previous to the battle of Actium, Anthony had 
thirteen kings at his levee. 

t Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at some distance fVom Actium, 
where the wall of the Hippodrome survives in a few frajrments. These ruins 
are large masses of brickwork, tlie bricks of which arc joined by interstices ot 
mortar, as large as the bricks themselves, and equally durable. 



CANTO II.] CUILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 537 

XLvr. 

From the dark barriers of that rue^erl clime, 
Even to the centre of Illj-ria's vales, 
C'hihlc Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, 
Throufi-h lands scarce noticed in historic tales; 
Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales 
Are rarely seen ; nor can fair Tempe boast 
A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails, 
Thoujrh classic ji'round and consecrated nio^t, 
To match some spots that lurk within this louring coast. 

XLVII. , 

He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acbcrnsia's lake,* 
And left the primal city of the land, 
And onwards did his farther journey take 
To greet Albania's chief, whose dread command f 
Is lawless law ; for with a blood}' hand 
He sways a nation, turbulent and bold : 
Yet here and there some daring mountain-liand 
Disdain his power, and from their rocky bold 
Hurl their dctiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. J 

XLVIII. 

Monastic Zitza! from thy shady brow,^^ 
Thou small, but favor'd spot of' holy ground ! 
Where'er we gaze, around, above, lielow, 
What rainbow tints, what magic cliarms are found : 
Eock, river, forest, mountain all abound. 
And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : 
Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound 
Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll 
Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul. 

XLIX. 

Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill. 
Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh 
Rising in, lofty ranks, and loftier still. 
Might well itself be deem'd of dignity. 
The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : 
Here dwells the caloyer,|| nor rude is he. 
Nor niggard of his cheer; the passcr-liy 
Is welcome still ; nor heedless will be tlee 
From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheeh to see. 

* According to Pouqueville, the lake of Yanina : but Pouqueville is always out. 

t The celebrated Ali Pacha. Of this extraordinary man tliere is an incorrect 
account in Ponriiieville's Travels. 

I Five thousand Suliotes, amonR the rocks and in the castle of Suli, witlistond 
thirty thousand .\lbanians for eighteen years; the castle at last was taken by 
bribery. In this contest there were several acts performed not unworthy of the 
better days of Greece. 

§ Tlie convent and village of Zitza are four hours' journey from Joannina. or 
Yanina, the capital ol the pachalic. In the valley the river Kahunas (diice the 
Acheron) flows, and not far from Zitza forms a tine cataract. The sitiiati'in is 
perhaps the finest in Greece, though the approach to Delvinachi and parts of 
Acarnania and ^tolia may contest the palm. Delphi, Parnassus, and, in Attica, 
even Cape Colonna and I'ort Kaphti, are very inferior; as also every scene in 
Ionia, or the Troad: I am almost inclined to add the approacli to Constantinople; 
but, from the ditferent features of the last, a comparison can hardly be mad«. 

li The Greek monks are so called. 



588 CRILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto n. 

L. 

Here in tlio sultriest season let him rest, 
Fresli is the <;rocn hencath those ajicd trees; 
Here winiU of gentlest wini»- will fan his hreast, 
From heaven itself he nia\' inhale the i)i'ecze : 
The plain is far beneath — oh ! let him seize 
Pure pleasure while he ean; the scorehin;^ ray 
Here pierecth not, inipre;:;nate with disease : 
Then let his length the loitcriuj,'' pilgrim lay. 
And gaze, unlired, the morn, the noon, the eve awtiy. 

LI. 
I>usky and huLje, enlarginj,'- on the sight, 
Natun''s volcanie am])hitheatre,* 
Chinuera's alps extend from left to right : 
Beneath, a living valley seems to stir; 
Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mouutaia fir 
Nodding aljove ; hehold hlack Acheron ! f 
Once consecrated to the sepulchre. 
Phito ! if this he hell I look upon, 
Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none 

LIT. 

Ne city's towers jiolluti^ the lovely view; 
Unseen is Yaniua, though not remote, ^^ 
Vcil'd hy the screen of hills : here men are few, 
Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot ; 
IJut, peering down each precipice, the goat 
IJrowscth : and, pensive o'er his scatter'd ilock, 
I'lie little shepherd in his white caitote j 
Doth lean his hoyish form along the rock. 
Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived slioelc. 

LIII. 

Oh ! where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove, 
Pro])hctic fount, and oracle divine ? 
^\'hat valley echoed the response of Jove ? 
What trace remaineth of the Thunderer's shrine ? 
All, all forgotten — and shall man repine 
That his frail honds to fleeting life are broke ? 
Cease, fool ! the fate of gods may well be thine : 
Wouldst thou survive the niarlile or the oak ? 
"When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath 
the stroke ! 

LFV. 

Epirus' hounds recede, and mountains fail; 
Tired of up-gazing still, the wearieil eye 
Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale 
As ever Spring yclad in grassy dye : 
Even on a plain no hund)le beauties lie, 
Where some hold river lireaks the long expanse, 
And woods along the hanks are waving high. 
Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance. 
Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. 

• The Chimnriot mountains appear to have been volcanic, 
t Now cnlletl Kalamas. 
j Albancsc tlouk. 



CANTO II.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 539 



1'he sun had sunk behind vast Tomei-it,* 
The Laos wide and iicrce came rollinfi: by ;t 
The shades of wonted night were "■athering yet, 
When, down the steep banks winding warily, 
Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky. 
The glittering minarets of Tepalen, 
Whose walls o'erlook the stream ; and drawing nigh, 
He heard the busy hum of warrior-men 
Swelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. 



He pass'd the sacred Harem's silent tower, 
Ancl underneath the wide o'crarching gate 
Survey'd the dwelling of this chief of power. 
Where all around proclaim'd his high estate. 
Amidst no common pomp the despot sate. 
While busy preparation shook the court, 
Slaves, eunuchs, soldici-s, guests, and santons wait ; 
Within, a palace, and without a fort: 
Here men of every clinle appear to make resort. 



Richly caparison'd, a ready row 
Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, 
Circled the wide-extending court below ; 
Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridor; 
And oft times through the area's echoing door, 
Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away : 
The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, 
Here mingled in their nuiny-hucd array. 
While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. 



The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee. 
With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun. 
And gold-embroider'd garments, fair to see : 
The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon ; 
The Delhi with his cap of terror on. 
And crooked glaive ; the lively, supple Greek 
And swarthy Nuljia's mutilated son ; 
The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak, 
Master of all around, too potent to be meek. 



Are mix'd conspicuous : some recline in groups, 
.Scanning the motley scene that varies round ; 
There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops. 
And some that smoke, and some that play, are found ; 

* Anciently Mount Tomarus. 

t The river Laos was tiill at the time the author passed it; and. immediately 
above Tepaleen. was to tlie eye as wide as the Thames at Westminster; at least 
in tlic opinion of ihe antlior and his fellow-traveller. In the snmmer it must be 
mucli narrower. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant; neither Achelous, 
Alplieus, Aclieron, Scamander, nor Cayster, approached it in breadth or beauty. 



590 CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto it 

Here the Albanian proudly treads the pronnd ; 
llalf-whisperinji: there the Greek is heard to prate; 
Hark ! from the mosque the nishtly solemn sound, 
The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, 
" There is no god but God ! — to praj'cr — lo ! God is great ! " 

Li. 

Just at this season Ramazani's fast 
Through the long day its penance did maintain. 
But when the lingering twilight hour was past, 
Revel and feast assumed the rule again : 
Now all was bustle, and the menial train 
Prepared and spread the plenteous board within; 
The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain. 
But from the chambers came the mingling din, 
As page and slave anon were passing out and in. 

LXI. 

Here woman's voice is never heard ; apart. 
And scarce permitted, guarded, veil'd, to move, 
She yields to one her person and her heart, 
Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove : 
For, not unhappy in her master's love. 
And joyful in a mother's gentlest cai'es,^' 
Blest cares ! all other feelings far above ! 
Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears, 
Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. 

LXII. 

In mai'blc-paved pavilion, where a spring 
Of living water from the centre rose, 
"Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling, 
And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, 
Ali reclined, a man of war and woes : 
Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, 
"While Gentleness her milder radiance throws 
Along that aged venerable face, 
The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace. 

LXIII. 

It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard 
111 suits the passions which belong to youth : 
Love conquers age — so Hatiz hath averr'd. 
So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth — 
But crimes that scorn the tender voice of ruth. 
Beseeming all men ill, but most the man 
In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth : 
Blood follows blood, and through their mortal span. 
In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. 

LXIV. 

'Mid many things most new to ear and eye 
The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, 
And gazed around on Moslem luxury, 
Till quickly wearied with that spacious scat 



CANTO II.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 59] 

Of Wcaltli and Wantonness, the choice retreat 
Of sated Grandeur from tlie city's noise : 
Antl were it humbler, it in sooth were sweet; 
But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, 
And Pleasure, leag'ued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. 

LXV. 

Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack 
Not vn-tues, were those virtues' more niature. 
Where is the foe that ever saw their back ? 
Who can so well the toil of war endure ? 
Their native fastnesses not more secure 
Than they in doubtfid time of troublous need • 
Their wrath how deadly ! but their friendship sure 
VVlien Gratitude or Valor bids them l)lced, ' 

Unshaken rushing- on where'er their chief niay lead, 

LXVI. 

Cliilde Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower 
Tlironffin^^ to war in splendor and success; 
And after vicw'd them, wlien, within their power 
Himself a while the victim of distress ; 
That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press • 
But these did shelter him beneath their roof, 
When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less 
And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof—* ' 

In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof! 

LXVII. 

It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark 
Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore. 
When all around was desolate and dark ; 
To land was perilous, to sojourn more ; 
Yet for a while the mariners forbore. 
Dubious to trust where treachery mitdit lurk • 
At length they ventured forth, thougli doubting sore 
Ihat those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk 
Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. 

LXVIII. 

Vain fear ! the Suliotes stretch'd the welcome hand 
Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp 
Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so bland, 
* " , i-i'lr^' the hearth, and wrung their garments damp. 
And fill d the bowl, and trimm'd the cheerful lamp 
And spread their fare : though homely, all thcv had • 
Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp— 
To rest the weary and to soothe the sad. 
Doth lesson hajipier men, and shames at least the bad- 

LXIX. 

It came to pass, that when he did address 
Himself to quit at length this mountain-land, 
Comlnned marauders half-Avay barr'd egress. 
And wasted far and near with glaive and brand ; 

* Alluding to the wreckers of Cornwall. 



592 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto ii. 

And thcrpforo diil ho take a trusty band 
To traverse Acnrnania's forest wide, 
111 war wi'U sea-ioii'd, and with hibors tann'd, 
Till he did lii-oot white Aelu^loiis' tide, 
And from his further bank ^Etolia's wolds espied. 

LXX. 

Where lone T^traikey forms its eirclins' cove, 
And weai-y waves retire to uleam at rest, 
llow brown the f(ilia;;e of the <;reen hill's <Trove, 
Noddinji' at midnight o'er the ealm bay's breast, 
As winds come whispcrinL;' lightly from the west, 
Kissiiiii', not rnfilin;;', the blue deep's serene: 
Here llarold was received a welcome fiaicst; 
Nor did he pass nnnioved the gentle scene. 
For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. 

LXXI. 

On the smooth shore the nii;ht-fires brightly blazed, 
Tlie feast was done, the nil wine circlinji- fast,* 
And he that unawares had there yji'azed 
With •japini;" wonderment had stared aghast; 
For ere night's midmost, stillest honr was past, 
The native revels of the troop began; 
Each I'alikart his sabre from him cast, '' 
And liounding hand in band, man link'd to man. 
Yelling their uncouth dirge, long daunced the kirtled clan, 

Lxxir. 

Childe Harold at a little distance stood. 
And view'd, but not displeased, the revclric, 
Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude : 
In sootii, it was no vulgar sight to see 
Their liarbarous, yet tiieir not indecent, glee : 
And, as tiie llames along their faces glcam'tl. 
Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free. 
The long wild locks that to their girdles strcam'd, 
While tints iu coucert they this lay lialf sang, half scream'd :— 

1, 

Tambourgi ! Tambourgi ! J thy larum afar 
Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; 
All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, 
Chiinariot, lllyrian, and dark Suliote ! ^^ 

2. 

Oh ! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, 

In his snowy camese and his shaiigy capote ? 

To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock. 

And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. 

* The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine, and, indeed, very few 
of the others. 

t " Talikar," a general name for a soldier amongst the Greeks and Albanese 
who speak Komaic: it means, properly, " a lad." % Pnnumer. 

§ These stanzas are partly taken from dirt'erent Albanese songs, so far as I 
was able to make them out "bv the exposition of tlie Albanese in Romaic and 
Italian. 



CANTO II.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 593 

3. 

Shall tlio sons of Cliiinari, wlio never forfrive 
The fault of a friend, liid an enemy live ? 
Ivet those films so unorrinf,' such venj>cance forcjjo ? 
What mark its so fair as the l)rcast of a foe ? 

4. 
^Macedonia sends forth lier invin'-ihle race; 
For a time tiiey abandon the cave and the chase : 
Hut those scaiis of hlood-red sliall he redder, before 
The sabre is sheathed and the Ijattic is o'er. 

T). 
Then the pirates of Vm-^-.x that dwell by the waves, 
And teaeli tlu' pale 1-' ranks what it is to be slaves. 
Shall leave on the beach the lonj^- <i-alley and oar, 
And track to his covert the captive on shore. 

6. 

I ask not the pleasures that riches supplv, 
^ly sabre shall win what the feel)le must buy; 
Shall win the youn;,' bride with her loiiji" flowing hair. 
And many a maid fr(HU her mother shall tear. 

7. 
I love the fair face of the maid in her vouth, 
Ilcr caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe; 
Let her briu<i- from lier eliamlK-r the nianv-toned lyre, 
And sing us a song on tlie lall of her sire. 



Ecmemhcr the moment when Prcvisa fell,* 
The shrieks of the conquer'd, the contjuerors' yell; 
The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, 
The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely wo spared. 

9. 
I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; 
lie neither nuist know wiio would serve the Vizier: 
Since the ilays of our Prophet the Crescent ne'er saw 
A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 

10. 
Dark ISfuchtar his son to the Danube is sped, 
Let the yellow-hair'dt (iiaours view his horse-tail with dread, 
M'hcn his Delhis come dashing in blood o'er the banks, 
IIow few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! 

11. 
Selictar ! % unsheathe then our chief's scimitar : 
Tambourgi ! thy larum gives promise of war. 
Ye mountains, that see ns descend to the shore. 
Shall view us as victors, or view us no uiore ! 

♦ It was taken by storm from the French. 

t Yellow is the epithet given to the Uussiaiis. % " Selictar," swordbearer 

38 



594 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto ii. 

LXXIII. 

Fair Greece ! snd relic of dciiarte<l wdi-th ! 
linniortal, tliouyh noiiKire; tlioiiii'h lalleii, frrcat : 
^\'llo now shall lead thy sealter'd children forth, 
And lon^^' aecustoui'd hondaf^e iiiicreate ? 
Not such thy sons who whilom diil await, 
The hopeless warriors of a willinL;' doom. 
In bleak 'riierniopyhv's se|iulchi'^il strait — 
Oh ! who that fj'allant spirit shall resume, 
Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb ? 



8|iirit of I''reedom ! when on Phyle's bi-ow* 
Thou sat'st with Thrasyliulits and las train, 
Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now 
Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? 
Not thirty tyi-ants now enforce the chain, 
But every carle can lord it o'er thy land; 
Nor rise thy sons, but iilly rail in vain, 
Tremblinu beneatii the scourfie of Turkish hand, 
From birth till dcatli enslaved; in word, in ilecd, unmanu'd 

LXXV. 

In all sa\e i'orm alone, how chanu'cd! and who 
That marks ilie lire still sjiarklinu' in cacti eye, 
Who but wouUl ileem their bosoms burn'd anew 
AVilh thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty! 
And many dream withal the hour is niji'h 
That fiives them back their fatiiers' heritage : 
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh, 
Nor solely ilare encounter hostile rage. 
Or tear their name delilcd from Slavery's mournful page. 

LXXVI. 

Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not 
^^'llo would be free themselves must strike the blow ? 
I?y their right arms the compu-st must be wrought ? 
M'ill (iaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no! 
True, tiiey may lay your jiroml despoilers low, 
But not for you will Frceilom's altars tlame. 
Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe : 
Greece ! change thy lortls, thy state is still the same ; 
Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame. 

LXXVII. 

The city won for Allah from the Giaour, 

The Giaour from Othmau's race again may wrest; 

And the Serai's impenetrable tower 

Beceive the ticry Frank, her former guest ;t 

Or Wahab's rebel brood, who dared divest 

The Prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil,J 

* riiyle, which commaiuls a lioaiititul view of Athens, has still considorahlo 
remain's. It was sei/.cil by Tlu-asylmliis, in-i'vi.ms to tho i'.\|nilsionof tlieTliirty. 

t Wlu'ii taken l>y tho Latins, uiiil ivtaiiifil tin' si'veral yi'ars. 

% Micoa and Jk'ilina were taken some time ayo by tlie Waliabces, a sect yearly 
liicrcasiiig. 



CANTO II.] CITILDE HAIiOLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 595 

]M!iy wind their path of blood aloii": the West; 
IJiit iic'oi- will freedom scciv this fated soil, 
But slave sueeeed lo slave through years of endless toil. 

LXXVIII. 

Yet mark their mirth — ere Icntcn day bcoin, 
That penance which their holy rites prepare 
'i'o shrive from man his wci^^ht of mortal sin, 
Hy daily ai)stincnce and ni^iitly prayer; 
lUit ere his sackcloth garl) liepentancc wear, 
Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all. 
To take of pleasaunce each his secret share. 
In motley robe to dance at masking ball, 
And join the mimic train of merry Carnival. 



And whose more rife with merriment than thine, 
O Standjoul ! once the empress of their reigu .> 
Thougli turbans now pollute Sopliia's shrine, 
And (irecce her very altars eyes in vain : 
(Alas ! her woes will still pervade my strain !) 
(Jay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, 
All felt the common joy ihcy now must feign, 
Nor oft I've seen such sigiit,'nor heard such song, 
As woo'd the eye, and thrillM the Ijospliorus along. 

LXXX. 

Loud was the lightsome tumult on the shore, 
Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone, 
And timely echo'd back the measured oar. 
And rijipling waters made a pleasant moan : 
I'he Queen of tides on high consenting shone. 
And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, 
"fwas, as if darting from her heavenly throne, 
A In-igiiter glance her form rellected gave, 
Till sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks they lave. 



Glanced many a light cai'que along the foam, 
Danced on the shore the daughters of the land. 
No thought had nnin or maid of rest or home. 
While many a languid eye and thrilling hand 
Exchanged the look few" bosoms may withstand, 
Or gently prest, return'd the pressure still : 
Or Love ! youn;g Ixwe ! bound in thy rosy band, 
Let sage or cynic prattle as he will. 
These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill! 



But, 'midst the throng in merry masquerade. 
Lurk there no hearts that throb willi secret pain. 
Even through the closest cerement half bctray'd ? 
To such the gentle murmurs of the main 



-,9G ClIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto ii 

Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain ; 
To such the <;lathicss of the ^imiesonio crowd 
Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain : 
llow do thev loathe the laughter idly loud, 
And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud ! 

LXXXIII. 

This must he feel, the true-iiorn son of Greece, 
If Cireeee one true-horn patriot still can boast : 
Not such as prate of war, but skulk in (icace, 
The bondsuum's pcarc, wlu> sighs for all he lost, 
Yet with smooth siuik' his tyrant can accost, 
And wield tiie slavish sickle, not the sword : 
All ! (ireece ! they love tlu'c least who owe thee most ; 
Their birtli, their blood, and tliat sublime record 
Of hero sires, who shame thy now degenerate horde ! 

LXXXIV. 

When riscth Lacedaunou's hardihood, 
"When Thel)es Epamiuondas rears again, 
When Athens' children are with hearts endned. 
When lirecian nmthers shall give birth to men, 
Then mayst tliou bo restorcil ; but not till then. 
A thou>;aud years scarce serve to form a sftite; 
An hour may lay it in the dust : and when 
Can man its sliatter'd splendor renovate, 
Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ? 

LXXXV. 

And yet how lovely in thine age of woe. 
Laud" ot lost gods aiul godlike men — art thou! 
Tiiy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow,* 
Proclaim thee Nature's varied favorite now; 
Thy fanes, thy temi>les to thy surface bow, 
Coinmingling slowly with heroic eartli. 
Broke by the sluire of every rustic plough : 
So perish monuuuMits of mortal liirth. 
So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth ; 

LXXXVI. 

Save where some solitary column mourns 
Al)ove its prostrate brethren of the cave ; f 
Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns 
Colonna's elitf, and gleams along the wave; X 
Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave, 

* On m:uiv of tlic mountains, particulai'Iv Liakura, tlio snow never Is entirely 
moltoii, noiwitlistanilinu' ilu> intense heut of tlie summer; but I never saw it lie 
on tlie plains, even in winter. 

t Of .Mount I'ontolii'us, tVoni wlionce tlio niarlilo was ilna- tliaf constructed the 
inil>lic ciliticcs of Alliens. Tlic inculcrn naiiu' is >t.>Mnt MoiuU'li. .\n inimenso 
cave, foi'iiKHl l)y the (luarries, still ivmains, and will till the oiul of time. 

t In all Attica, if wc except .Vthcns itself and .Maratlion, there is no scene 
more intcvcstinv' than ('a)io Colonna. 'I'o the antiquary and artist, sixteen col- 
umns arc an incxhaiistihlc soinve oi' observation and dcsisin; to rlie philosopher, 
llie supposed scene of some of Plato's conversations will not he unwelcome : and 
the traveller will lie s-tnickwith the heauty of the prospect over "isles that 
crown the .ligean deep:" but, for an Eiii;lishman, t'olouua has yet an additional 



CANTO II.] cniLDE IIAROLrrS niMRIMAGE. r,<)7 

Where the pray stones and unmolestcil grass 
Afres, hnt not oblivion, I'eohly hrave, 
Wiiile strann'ors only not re;.riir(llcss pass, 
Linj;eiing' like me, jicrehanee, to gaze, and sigh "Alas! " 

LXXXVII. 

Yet are tliy skies as blue, thy crajis as wild : 
Sweet are thy groves, and verdant an' lliy lields. 
Thine olive ripe as when MiniTva smiled. 
And still his honcyM wealth llymeUns yields; 
Thei'e the l)lillu' bei^ his IVagranl I'lirtrcss liuilds, 
The I'reeliorii wanderiT of Ihy nii)iiiilain-air ; 
AjioUo still tiiy long, long summer gilds. 
Still in his beam Xlendeli's marbles glare; 
Art, ("lory. Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. 

LXXXVIII. 

Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy gi'ound; 
No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mouhl, 
\\\\\ (lue vast realm ol' wonder spreads aninnd, 
And all the IMuse's tales seem truly lold. 
Till the sense aehes with gazing to heboid 
The secnes our earliest dreams have dwell upon : 
Eaeh hill and dale, each deepening glen ami wold. 
Defies the jiower which erush'd thy temples gone ; 
Age shakes iVthena's tower, liut spares gray Marathon. 

LXXXIX. 

The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same; 
Unebangetl in all exeejjt its foreign lord — 
Presei'ves alike its i)()unds and boundless fame; 
Tlu^ HattU^lield, where I'ersia's vietim horde 
First bow'd Ixmealb the brunt of Jlellas' sword, 
As on the nu)rn to distant: (Jlory dear. 
When ^Mai'atbon became a magie word;* 
^^'bicll ultcr'd, to the hearer's eye ajipear 
The eamp, the host, the light, the eon(piei'or's career. 

interest, as tlio iictiinl spot of Falconer's " Slilpwreek." I'alliis anil \'\:\U< are 
Ibrnolten, in tlic rectiileetioii (if Kulconer and Caiiiiiliell : — 

" II. Tc in llie ilcM.lol nif^lil In l,.HMii|-s stceji, 

'I'lic seanian's cry was lieanl alon;,' llii' ilei'p." 
Tills temple of Minerva may lie s<'<'n at sea fniiu a ^iri'iit dislanee. In Iwii jciiir- 
ncys which 1 nnule, ami iine v(iya«e to Cajie Cdlonna. Ilie view from eilluT siile, 
l)y"lan(l, was mon^ slriUlnt,'than llie aiiproaeh Iromllie isles, in our second land 
excursion we hail a narrow escape from a party of Alainoles, ciaiceaU'd in tli(! 
caverns lienealh. Wi^ were lold allervvards liy one of their prisoners, snlisc- 
i|nently ransomed, that tli<'y were delerred from allacliii:^' ns by the appearance 
of nrv two Alli.uiians: conjeclurint; very saf;aci<aisl,\ , hut falsely, tliat we had a 
comidele yunrd of these .Vrnaoids at hand, thi-y remained stationary, and thus 
saved our party, wliicli was loo simill lo have opposed any elleetiial resistance. 
Coloiuia is no less a resort of paiiders tlian of |iirales; Ihefe 
" The hireling' artist plants his paliry desk. 

Ami makes di'yradcd n.ilure plciures(|n<'." 

(See Ilodysons Liidii Jane Grvij^ >\:c.) 
lUit tliere Nature, with the nUI of Art, has dom^ that for herself. I was for- 
tunate enough to eii;.'at,'0 a very superior ('icrman artist; and hope to renew my 
acrpiaiiitancc with this and many other Lovaiitluo scenes, by the arrival of his 
performances. 

* •' Siste Viator— heroa caleas!" was the epitaph on the famous Count 
Merci ; — what, then, must he our feelings when slandin;,' on the liinmUis of the 



598 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [caxto ii. 



The flyinn; !Mcdc, his shaftless broken bow ; 
The fiery Greek, his red pursuinij spear; 
Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's phiin below ; 
Death in the front, Destruction in the rear! 
Such was the scene — wliat now reniainetli here ? 
What sacred trophy marks the liallow'd ground, 
Kecordini^' Froeiloni's smile and Asia's tear ? 
The rifled urn, the violated mound. 
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger, spurus around. 



Yet to the remnants of thy splendor past 
Shall jiilv;riuis, iiensive, but unwearied, throng; 
Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast, 
Hail the bright clime of battle and of song ; 
Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore : 
Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
Which sages venerate and bards adore, 
As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful loi'e. 

XCII. 

The parted bosom clings to wonted home, ^^ 
If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth ; 
He that is lonely, hither let him roam, 
And gaze compku^cnt on congenial earth. 
Greece is no lightsome lantl of social mirth; 
But he whom Sadness sootheth may abide, 
And scarce regret the region of his birth, 
AVlien wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. 

XCIII. 

Let such approach this consecrated land, 
And pass in peace along the magic waste : 
But spare its relics — let no busy hand 
Deface the scenes, already how defaced ! 
Not for such purpose were these altars placed, 
lieverc the remnants nations once revered: 
So may our country's name be undisgraced, 
So mayst thou prosper where thy youth was rear'd, 
By every honest joy of love and life endear'd! 

xciv. 
For thee, who thus in too protracted song 
Hast soothed thine idlesse with inglorious lays, 
Soon shall thy voice be lost amid the throng" 
Of louder minstrels in these later days : 

twd liunilrcd (Greeks) who fell on Marathon? The principal barrow lias recently 
been opened by Fanvel: few or no relics, as vases. A-e., were foiniii 1)V the exca- 
vator. 'I'lio plain of .Alaratlicm was nticred to luc fnr sale at tlie sum" cif sixteen 
tliousand piasters, aliont nine liiinilix-d imuudsl .\lasl — " Expcndc — quut /ihras 
in ducc sniinno — invrnies ! "—was tlie dust of Miltiades worth no morel'' It could 
scarcely have fetched less if sold by iceijht. 



CANTO II.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 599 

To sucli resign the strife for fading bays — • 
111 may such contest now the spirit move 
^Vhi^•h heeds nor keen reproach nor partial praise; 
Since cold each kinder heart that might ai)provc, 
And none are left to please when none are left to love. 



Thou too art gone, thou loved and lovely one ! 
Whom youth and youth's atlections bound to me ; 
Who did for mc wliat none beside have done, 
Nor shrank from one albeit unworthy thee. 
What is my being ? thou hast ceased to be ! 
Nor staid to welcome here thy wanderer home. 
Who mourns o'er hours which we no more shall see — 
^\'ould llicy had never been, or were to come ! 
Would he had ne'er return'd to find fresh cause to roam ! 



Oh! ever loving, lovely, and beloved! 
How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past. 
And clings to thoughts now better far removed ! 
13ut Time shall tear thy shadow from me last. 
All thou couldst have of mine, stern Death ! thou hast 
The parent, friend, and now the more than friend; 
Ne'er yet for one thine arrows Hew so fast, 
And grief with grief continuing still to blend. 
Hath suatch'd the little joy that life had yet to lend. 



Then must I plunge again into the crowd. 
And follow all that Peace disdains to seek .' 
^^'here Revel calls, and Ijaughter, vainly loud, 
False to the heart, distorts the hollow cheek, 
To leave the flagging spirit doubly weak ! 
Still o'er the features, which perforce they cheer, 
To feign the jileasure or conceal the pique ; 
Smiles form the channel of a future tear, 
Or raise the writhing lip with ill-dissembled sneer. 



What is the worst of woes that Avait on age ? 
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the lu'ow ? 
To view each loved one blotted from life's page, 
And be alone on earth, as I am now. 
Before the Chasteuer humbly let me bow, 
O'er hearts divided and o'er hopes destroy'd : 
Roll on, vain days ! full reckless may ye ilow. 
Since Time hath reft whate'er my soul enjoy'd. 
And with the ills of Eld mine earlier years alloy'd. 



600 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [c.o^TO in. 

CANTO THE TIIIED. 

"Afin que cette application vous forcat de penser a autre chose; il n'y a en 
verite de remede que celui-14 et le temps." — Lettre dii Rot de t'riisse a 
D'Alernberi, Sept. 7, 1776. 

I. 

Is thy face like thy mother's, my i':iir child ! 

Adaf sole daujihter of my house and heart ? 

When last I saw thy young blue eyes tliey smiled, 

And then we partetl, — not as now we part, 

But with a hope. — 

Awaking with a start. 

The waters heave around me; and on high 

The winds lift up their voices : I depart. 

Whither I know not; hut the hour's gone hy, 
When Alhiou's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine 
eye. 

II. 

Once more upon the waters ! yet once more ! 

And the waves bound beneath me as a steed 

That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar! 

Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead ! 

Though the strain'd mast should quiver as a reed, 

And the rent canvas tl uttering strew the gale, 

Still must I on; for I am as a weed, -^ 

Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail 
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail. 

III. 
In my youth's summer I did sing of One, 
The wandering outlaw of his own dark mind; 
Again I seize the theme, then but begun, 
And bear it with me, as the gushing wind 
Bears the cloud onwards : in that Tale I find 
The furrows of long tliought, and dried-up tears, 
Which, ebbing, leave a sterile track behind. 
O'er which all heavily the journeying years 
Plod the last sands of life,— where not a Howcr appears. 

IV. 

Since my young days of passion — .joy, or pain. 
Perchance my heart and harp have lost a string, 
And both may jar; it may be, that in vain 
I would essay as I have sung to sing, 
Yet, though a dreary strain, to this I cling, 
So that it wean nie i'roni the weary dream 
Of selfish grief or gladness — so it tiing 
Forgetfidness around me — it shall seem 
To me, though to none else, a not ungrateful theme. 



lie, who grown aged in this world of woe. 
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, 
So that no wonder waits him ; nor below 
Can love, or sorrow, fame, anil)ition, strife, 
Cut to his heart again with tlie keen knife 



CANTO III.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. GOl 

Of silent, sharp endurance : lie can tell 
Why thono-ht seeks rcfuR-c in lone caves, yet rife 
"With airv ima;ies, and shapes which dwell 
Still unimpair'd, though old, in the soul's haunted cell. 



'Tis to create, and in crcatinji live 
A hciii^- more intense, that we endow _ 
With form our fancy, fiainin.t,'- as we give 
The life we iiiume, even as I do now. 
AVhat am I ? Nothing : but not so art thou, 
Soul of mv thought! with whom I traverse earth. 
Invisible but gazinsr, as I glow 
jNlix'd with tliv spirit, lilendcd with thy birth, 
And feeling still with thee in ray crush'd feelings' dearth. 



Yet must I think less wildly :— I have thought 
Too long and darkly, till my brain became, 
In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, 
A whirling gu'lf of fantasy and Hanie : 
And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, 
My springs of life were poison'd. 'Tis too late ! 
Yet am I'changed ; though still enough the same 
In strength to bear what time can not abate. 
And feed on bitter fruits without accusing Fate. 

VIII. 

Something too much of this :— but now 'tis past. 
And the spell closes with its silent seal. 
Long-absent Harold reappears at last ; 
He of the breast which fain no more would feel, 
"Wrung with the wounds which kill not, but ne'er heal ; 
Yet Tmie, who changes all, had alter'd him 
In soul and aspect as in age : years steal 
Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb ; 
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim. 

IX. 

His had been quatf'd too quickly, and he found 
The dregs were wonnwooil; but he fill'il again, 
And from a purer fount, on holier ground, _ 
And deem'il its spring perpetual; hut in vaiu! 
Still round him clnng invisibly a chain 
Which gall'd for ever, fettering though unseen. 
And heavv though it clank'd not; worn with pain. 
Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen. 
Entering with every step he took through many a scene. 

X. 

Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd 
Again in fancied safety with his kind. 
And deom'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd 
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind. 



602 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto hi. 

That, if no joy, no sorrow liirk'd behind; 
And lie, as one, miy:ht 'midst the many stand 
thihccded, searfhinu' tlirouuh the crowd to find 
Fit s]ic'cuhUioii ; such as in strani^c laud 
lie found in wonder-works of Uod and Nature's hand» 

XI. 

But who can view the I'ijicn'd rose, nor seek 
To wear it ? who can curiously heliohl 
The smoothness and tlio sheen of iieauty's check, 
Nor feel the heart can never all prow old ? 
AVho can contemplate Fame throujjh clouds unfold 
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb ? 
Harold, once more within the vortex, roll'd 
(^n with tlic j;idily circle, chasiuiT Time, 
Yet with a nobler tiun than in his youth's fond prime. 

XII. 

But soon he knew himself the most unfit 
Of men to hcril with Man ; with whom he held 
Little in common; nntau^lit to submit 
His thouiiiits to others, thouLrh his soul was quell'd 
In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompell'd, , 

He would not yield dominion of his mind ^- 
To spirits ayainst whom his own rcbcU'd; 
Proud thouji'h in desolation; which could find 
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind. 

XIII. 

Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends; 
Where roll'il the ocean, tiicrcon was his home; 
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends, 
He had llie passion and the power to roam; 
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's loam, 
AV'cre unlo him companionship; they spake 
A mutual languag-e, clearer than the tome 
Of his laml's tongue, which he would oft forsake 
For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake. 



Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars, 
Till he had peopled them with beings bright 
As their own beams; and earth, and earth-born j.ars, 
And human iVaihies, were forgotten ([uite : 
Could he ha\ c kept his spirit to that lligiit 
He liad been liapjiy ; but this clay will sink 
Its sjiark innuorlal, envying it the light 
To which it mounts, as if to break the link 
That keeps us from yon heaven which wooes ns to its brink, 



But in Man's dwellings he became a thing 
Kcstless and woru, and stern and weiu'isome, 
I)roo))'d as a wild-lwrn falcon with dipt wing, 
To whom the boundless air alone were home: 



CANTO lu.] CITILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 003 

Then Clinic liis fit attain, wliicli to o'ercomc, 
As ca<;-crly tin- i)Mrr'd-up bird will boat 
His breast and beak against his wiry dome 
Till (he blood tinnc his iilumaj^e, so the heat 
Of his impeded soul would throngli his bosoin cat. 

XVI. 

Self-ex-iled Harold wanders forth airain, 
AVilii nauulit of hope left, but witli less of gloom; 
The very knowledge that he lived in vain, 
That all was over on this side the tond). 
Had made Despair a sniilingncss asstnnc, 
AVhieh, though 'twere wild,— as on the plunder'd wreck 
A\nien mariners would madly meet their doom 
With draughts inlemperale on the sinking deck, — 
Did yet inspire a cheer, whirh he forI)orc to check. 

XVII. 

Stop! for thy tread is on an Eniiiire's dust! 
An P^arthquake's spoil is sepidehred below ! 
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? 
Nor column trophied for trhMnjihal show ? 
None; but the moral's truth tells siuii)ler so, 
As the ground was before, thus let it be ; — 
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! 
And is this all the world has gain'd l)v thee. 
Thou ilrst anil last of lields ! king-making Victory .' 

XVIII. 
And Harold stands upon this place of skulls, 
The grave of Trance, the deadly Waterloo! 
How in an hour the power which gave annuls 
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too! 
In "])ridc of ])lacc"* here last the eagle How, 
Then fore with bloody talon the rent ]ilain, 
rierced i)y the shaft of banded nations thron<rh ; 
Ambition's life and labors all were vain; 
He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken chain. 

XIX. 

Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit 
iVnd foam in fetters ;—but'is Earth more free ? 
Did nations combat to make One siU)niit; 
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty ? 
"W'liat! shall reviving thraldom again be' 
The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days ? 
iSliMll we, who struck the Lion down, shall we 
Pay the Wolf homage ? proffering lowly gaze 
And servile knees to thrones ? No ; prove before ye praise ! 

XX. 

If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more ! 
In vain fair checks were furrow'd with hot tears 

• " In pride of place " is a term of falconry, anil means tlio liighcst pitch of 
flight. See "Macbeth," ifcc. 

" An eagle towering in his priilo of place," &c. 



001 ClUl.Di: lIMiOl.D'S PILGRIMAGE, [ianto iii. 

I'di- I'',Mi-(i|i('-- llowcrs loii;^- rooted up Ix'foro 
'I'lu' lr!ini|il(i' of licr viiiovui'ds ; in Viiiii years 
Of ilfUlli, (lv|Miiiiil;ili()li, l)()li(lil|;'i-, fears, 
Have all lieeii home, and broken l)y (he aeeoril 
or roiised-u|) millions: all (liat most endears 
(Jlorv, 's wilt II llie myrtle wreathes a sword 
Much as llii; nuMlius drew on Alliens' tynint lord.* 

XXI. 

Tliore \VM^ a snund of revelry by nit;bt, 
And Uel^iium'.s capital bad ;;atber'd tlien 
Her Heanly and ber Cliivalry, and lirij^lit 
'riie lanijis sboiie o'er lair women and lira\'o Tncn; 
A tbonsand liearts beat bappily ; and wbi'n 
!Musie arose wilb its voliipliioiis swell, 
iSol't eyes look'd love to eyes wbieli spaUe a^;'ain, 
And all wcnl niciiy as a nnirriaj,''e-bell ; f 
\^\\\ liusli ! bark ! a deep sonnd strikes like a rising- knell! 

XXII. 

Did ye not bear il ? -No; 'twas bid tbe wind, 
Or tl'ie <'ar ralliiii^' o'er (be stony street ; 
On wilb tbe dance ! let )o\ be nnconlin'd ; 
l^o sleeji till morn, wben Vontb and Pleasure meet 
To eliase (be j^lowin;jj llonrs with tlyin;;' I'eetj^- 
Hut, bark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
As if tbe clouds its echo would repeat ; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than be lore ! 
Arm! arm I il i> it is — tbe cannon's opening;' roar! 

will. 
A\'ilhin a wiiidow'd niche of that bi;:b ball 
ISate Mriiiiswiek's fated chieftain; he did hear 
That soiiiiil tbe lirsl amidst the festival. 
And can^;bl iis tone with nt'atb's |irophetic ear; 
And when liicy smiled becanse he deem'd il near, 
His heart more truly kiu'w that peal too well 
Which strelcb'd bis father on a liloody bier. 
And roused the vcnueaiiee blood ahme could (luell: 
He rush'd into Ibc licid, and, foremost li;;htin,L;-, fell. 

X \ I \' . 
Ah! then and there was bnrryinu' ti> ami fro. 
And izalbcriuL;' tears, and trembliiii;s of distress, 
And checks all pale, wbii'h but an hour a<;o 
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; 
And there were sudden partings, siieh as iiress 
'.riie life from out younu' hearts, ami chokin;^' sinhs 
'Which ne'er mi;; hi hi' repcati'd : who would <^iiess 
If ever more sluuild nuH-t those mutual eyes. 
Since upon iii;;ht so sweet siieh awful luoni could rise ! 

* Soo till' I'liimiHs siinii im Ilnniioillas and ArlslOKitoti. Tlio liost KiiKlisli tnms- 

lallcM Is In "lllnnil's Aatlu>lo(;y," liv Mr. (now l.md I'hk't-Jastice) Di'iuiian:— 

■' Willi mvrllo uiv swmd will I wrcnllie,'" Ac. 

t On tlic night previous to (hu action, it is saUl tliiU ti ball was gtvon at 
llrassch*. 



t!ANTO III.] CUILDE lIAROLiyS PILGRIMAGE. 605 

XXV. 

And flioiv w;is mounting' in hot haste : tho stccil, 
"J'hi' nuislcrin^' siinaih'on, ami tlu; ( lattorinf!: car, 
Went jiourin^'' tbrwai'd with ini))('tii()iis sjiecd, 
And swiftly I'orniinj;' in the ranks ol'war; 
And the deep thnnder jtcal on peal aiar; 
And near, the heal ol'llui alarniinj:' druui 
Iviiiised n|) the soldier ere tlie morning' star; 
While llironu'd the eili/ens with terror dumh. 
Or whispering, with wdntc lijis — " The I'oe ! They conic! 
they come ! " 

XXVI. 

And wild and hiuh the " ( 'ameron's Ljatlierinif " rose, 
'J"he war-note of Loehiel, which Alhyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, loo, haxe hi-r Saxon foes: 
Ilow in the noon of ni^ht liiat, i)ihroeh thrills 
Savaije aTid shrill ! lint with the breath which fills 
Theii' nionntain-|iipe, so fill the nionnlainecrs 
M'ilh the tierce native darin;;' whicli instils 
The stii'rint;' memory of a, thousand years, 
And I'^van's, Donald's lame rin^s in I'ach clansman's cars!* 

XXVII. 

And Ardennes waves above thcin her yrccn leaves, f 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
(irievin;;', if au;^hl inanimate e'er "grieves, 
Ovi'i' the nnri'turniuL;' hrave- — alas! 
I'he evening- to be trodden like the <rrass 
Which now l)eneaUi them, but above; shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this (iery mass 
Of livini;' valor, rolling on the foe. 
And burning wilii high liope, shall moulder cold and low. 

XXVIII. 

I^ast noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
]iast eve in Beanty's circle proudly gay. 
The midnight hronght the signal-sound of strife, 
'J'he morn the marsiialling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magiiilicently-slern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when i\Mit, 
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, 
Wiiicli her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, 
llidcr and horse — friend, foe — iu one red burial blent ! 

XXIX. 

'I'heir |)raisi> is bymn'd by loflici- harps than mine; 
Yet one I would select from that proud throng, 
I'artly because; they blend me with his Hik", 
And i)artly that 1, tlid his sire some wrong, 

♦ Sir Evnn Cainrniii, :nul liis (lc.sciMi(l:uit Doiialil, llii' " ;,'i'iitlo l.ncliicl " of llio 
* forty-five." 

t 'I'lU' wood of SoiKMlcs is siipposi'd to lie i\ rciiiiiMnt of tlic forest of Ardennes, 
fiinious in r.oi.u'do'N " Orlando," and iuuiiortiil in Sliakspcnrn's "As voii iilte It." 
His jil.so (.■elrl)rMl<'d in 'i'aeiliis, iis liciii^' the spot of sncccssfiil dotenco In- tlio 
(iermaiis aKiiinsI lln' lioniun cnci-oai'linu'nls. I li:ivc vcntiu'cd to ado])! tlio 
name coniioctvd witli nol}lui- iissoeiations tlian lliosv of an re slaiiyliter. 



COG CIIILDE HAROLD'S riLGRIMAGE. [canto iii. 

And partly that brijrht names will hallow sontr ; 
And lus was of the bravest, and when showcr'd 
The death-holts deadliest the thiiiii'd files alon<i-, 
Even where the thickest ol' war's tempest lower'd, 
They reaeh'd no nohler breast than thine, young, gallant 
Howard ! 



There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, 
And mine were nothing, had 1 siicli lo give; 
But when 1 stooil beneatii the fr(^sh green tree, 
Whieh living waves where thou dulst cease to live, 
And saw around inc the wide lield revive 
With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring 
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive, 
"With all her reckless birds upon the wing, 
I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bri 



I turn'd to thee, to thousands, of whom each 
And one as all a ghastly gaii did nudvc 
In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach 
Forgetfulncss were mercy for their sake; 
The Archangel's triunp, not glory's, inust,>trwakc 
Those whom they thirst for; though the sound of Fame 
!May for a moment soothe, it cannot slake 
The fever ol vain longing, and the name 
So honor'd, but assumes a strouger, bitterer claim. 



They mourn, but smile at length : and, smiling, mourn: 
The tree will wither long before it fall; 
The hull drives on, though mast and sail be torn; 
The roof-tree sinks, but moulders on the hall 
In nuissy hoariness; the riuu'd wall 
Stands when its wind-W(n'U batllemeuts arc gone; 
The bars siu'vive the eapfi\e they enlhrall; 
The day drains through though storms keep out the sun; 
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on : 

* 5ry Buliic tVom ^lont St. Joan over tlio field seemed intelligent and aroiirato. 
The piaoe wlicrc .Maji>i- Umvanl lell was not tar iVom two tall and solitary ti'eos 
(tlu'iv was a llilnl, eiil down, oi- sliivered in the battle) which stand a tew yards 
from eaeh other at a patliways side, lieneath these he died anil was buried. 
'I'lie l>ody lias since been removed to Knglaiid. A small hollow Ibr tlie present 
marks where it lay, but will probalily soon bo elTaced, 'he plou.:,'h has been upon 
it, and the grain is. At'ter i)ointing out the ditloront spots where IMcton and 
other gallaid men had porislied, the guide said, " Here Major Howard lay : I was 
near him when wounded.'' I told Iniu my relationship, aiid ho seemed then still 
more an.xious to pomt out the particular spot and circumstances. The place is 
one of the most marked in the field, from tlie peculiarity of the two trees 
above mentimied. I went on horseback twice over the lield, comparing it with 
my recollection of similar scones. .Vs a plain, Waterloo seems marked out for 
the scene of some great action, though this may 1)C mere imagination. I have 
viewed with attention those of IMatea, Troy, MaiUinea, I-enctra, C'ha'ronea, and 
Maratlion, and the lield around .Alonl St. .lean and llougoumont appears to 
want little but a bettor cause, and that undolluable but impressive halo winch 
the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest willi any 
or ;U1 of tliesc, except, perhaps, the last mentioned. 



(;anto hi.] CIULDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 007 

XXXIII. 

Even us a broken mirror, wliioh the glass 
In every I'rafiiiient nuilliplies; and makes 
A thousand iniaj^es of one that was, 
Tiie same, and still tiie more, the more it breaks; 
And thus the heart will do which not ibrsakes, 
Livinji- in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold, 
Ami bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aehes, 
\et withers on till ail without is old. 
Showing- no visible sign, lor siieh things arc untold. 

XXXIV. 

There is a very liio in our despair, 
Vitality of jioisoii,— a (piick root 
Which feeds these diadly branches; for it were 
As nothing did we die; l)ul life will suit 
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit. 
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,* 
AH ashes to the taste : Did man eom|)Ute 
Existence i)y enjoyment, and count o'er 
Such hours 'gainst years of life— say, would he name 
threescore ? 

XXXV. 

The Psalmist imml)cr'd out the years of man: 

Tluy arc enough : and if thy talc be true, 

Thou, who didst grudgu' him even that lleeting span, 

More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo! 

Millions of tongues record thee, and anew 

Their children's lips shall echo them, and say 

" Here, where the sword united nations drew, 

Oiu- countiymen were warring on that day ! " 

And this is much, and all wiuch will not pass away. 

XXXVI. 

There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, 
Whose sjiirit •■intil helically mixt 
One moment of the mightiest, and again 
On little objects with like firmness lixt, 
Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt, 
Thy throne had still i)een thine, or never been; 
For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st 
Even now to reassume the imperial mien. 
Anil shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene ! 

XXX VI I. 

Confiuoror and caiitivc of the earth art thou ! 
She trcini)l(!s at thee still, and thy wild name 
Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now 
That thou art nothing, save the jest of Eame, 
'Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became 
The llatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert 
A god unto thyself; nor less the same 
To the astounded kingdoms all inert. 
Who deeni'd thee for a lime wbate'er thou didst assert. 

• The (fablotl) a|)|)les on tlic brink of the lako Asplinltos were salU to bo fair 
without, ana, williiii, aslits. ViJa Tacitus, llistur. lib. v. 7. 



(JOS CllILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto hi 

XXXVIII. 
oil, more fir less tliMii iiKiii — in liijrli or low, 
B;iltliii;4 wilii nations, llyinu' IVoni the lirlil ; 
Ts'ow making: nioinn-clis' necks thy I'ootstool, now 
More lliau thy meanest soldier tan^^iil lo yield : 
An empire tlion couldst ernsli, command, rehiiild, 
But jj()V(!i'ii not tliy pettiest jiassion, nor, 
However deeply in men's s])irits .skill'd, 
Look tln'oii;;li tiiine own, nor curl) the lust of war, 
. or learn that tempted I'ate will leave the loi'tiest star. 

XXXIX. 

Yet well thy soul hath hrook'd the turning tide 
With that linlaiijiht innate philosophy, 
Which, he it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride, 
Is j;-all and wormwood lo an I'neniy. 
When tlie whole host of hatred stood hard hy, 
To watch and mock thee shrinkin;^', thou hast smiled 
With a sedate and all-enilurinj;- eye; — 
When Fortune tied her sjioil'd and favorite- child. 
He stood unhow'd heneath the ills upon him piled. 



Saufcr than in thy fortunes; for in them 
Aud)ition stei'l'd thee on too far to show -^' 
That just hahitnal scorn, wiiich could contemn 
Men imd their thonjihts; 'twas wise to feel, not so 
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow. 
And spurn the instruments thou wcrt to use 
Till they were tnrn'd unto thine overthrow; 
'Tis hut a worthless world to win or lose; 
So hath it iiroveil to thee, and all such lot who choose. 

XI.I. 

If, like a tower upon a licadlonp: rock. 
Thou hailst heeii made to stand or fall alone, 
Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock ; 
But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy 

throne. 
Their admiration thy best weajion shone; 
The part of Philip'sson was thine, not then 
(Unless aside thy pin-ple had been thrown) 
Like stern Diogenes to moi-k at men ; 
For scei)tred cynics earth were far too wide a den.* 

XI, n. 
But quiet to (piick bosoms is a bell. 
And there hath been thy bane ; there is a fire 

• Tho t'fofit ornir of Niipoloon. " if wo have writ our annals true," was a con- 
tinued (ililriision on ni.'Uiliiiul of liis want of all conniunilty of icclinB for or with 
thi'iii; ]H'i-lia|i.s more olli'iisivc to luniiaii vanity than tlio active cruelty of nioro 
trciuliliii^; aiul sMS]iicious Ivi'annv. Siicli were ills speoclios lo piil)lic assemlilies 
as writ lis individuals; and tlie sin^tlu expression which he is said to have used 
on relin-iiiMK to Taris alter the Hussiaii winter had destroyed his army, nihl)ins 
his liaiids ovit a lire, " 'I'his is plcasanter tlian Moscmiw," wcadd prohahly 
alienate more favor Irom his cause tlian the destruction and reverses wldch led 
to the remark. 



CANTO III.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 009 

And motion of tlio soul whifh will not dwell 
In ils own hmitdw l)ciii;i', hut ;is|iife 
I'.i'vond tJK^ liltinj,'' nicdiiiui of desire; 
And, hut once kindled, quenchless evermore, 
Preys ui)on lii-i'li adventure, nor eiin tiro 
Ol" iiuf,^lit l)ut rest ; ;i fever at the core, 
Fatal to him who hears, to all who ever horc. 

XLIIt. 

'J'his ni;d<cs the madmen who have made men mad 
Hy their eonlai^iou ! ( 'iniquerors and Kinj;s, 
Founilers of sects and systi'uis, to wlioni add 
Sophists, Kards, Statesmen, all untjuiet tliin;jj3 
Which stir too stronjily the soul's secret sprinfrs. 
And are themselves the fools to those they fool; 
JOnvii'd, yet how uiienvial)le ! what stints 
Are theirs ! One hreast laid open were a school 
Which would unteach mankind the lust to shine or rule : 

XI, IV. . 

Their hrcalli is a^'ilation, and their life 
A storm wIktcou they ride, to sink at last, 
And yet so nursed ami hi);'oted to sti'ife, 
That should their days, survivin;^ ])erils past. 
Melt to calm twili;;iit, tiiey feel overcast 
With sorrow and supineness, and so die; 
Even as a llame unfed, which runs to waste 
With its own tlickerinu', or a sword laid hy, 
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriou^ly. 

XLV. 

He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall (ind 
The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; 
He who surpasses or suhducs mankind, 
IVIust loolc down on tlu^ hale of those l)elow. 
Though hi^^h above the sun of {,''lory k'ow. 
And f;ii' hcncdili the earth and ocean spread. 
Round him are icy rocks, and lou<lly hhnv 
C'ontendin;,^ tem))esfs on his naked head. 
And thus rewaril the toils whieii to those summits led. 

XI.VI. 

Away with these! true Wisdom's world will be 
A\'ilhin its own creation, oi- in tiune, 
Maternal Nature! for wiio teems like thee. 
Thus on tiie hanks of tiiy majestic IMune ? 
Tlicre Harold /^a/.cs on a work divine, 
A blemlin;,' of all beauties; streams and dells, 
Fruit, folia;4e, era^if, wood, cornfield, mountain, vino, 
And chielless castles hivatliin;,'' stern far(!Wclls 
From gray but leafy walls, where Uuin j;reeuly dwells. 

xLvn. 
And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind. 
Worn, but unstooping to tiie baser crowd. 
All tenantless, save to the crannyin^;' wind. 
Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
39 



610 CIIILDE TIAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iit 

There was a day when they were yoiiiiji ami proud, 
Banners on \\\\x\\, and battles pass'd holow; 
]?iit llu'V will' I'oiijiiil ai-e in a bloody slirond, 
And llios<' whicli waved are shredless dusi ere now, 
And llie bleak lialllenienls shall bear no I'nture blow. 

XI, VIII. 

I'lcnealb these liiitllenients, wilhin those walls, 
I'dwei- dwi'll aniidsl hei imssions; in jiroiKl state 
JCach robber eliiel" Ujiheld his arilU'd halls, 
DoiiiL;' his evil will, nor less elate 
'J'han nii;ihtier heroes of a lonaer date. 
AVhat want these outlaws conquerors should have ?* 
]?ut History's ]uirc'ha.sed |i:iu'e to call them yreat ? 
\ wider s))aee, an oi'nMuieuted j;'rave ? 
Their hopes weri' not, less warm, their souls were full as brave. 

xi.ix. 
In their baroni;d lends mid single fields, 
What deeds of i)rowess nnreeoriled died! 
And Love, wdiieh lent, a, blazon to their sliields, 
M'ilh embU'ins well devised by anuu'ous pride, 
I'hrouLili all the mail of iron hearts woul<l L;lide; 
Hut still their llanie was liei'eeness, and ih'i'W on 
Keen eontesi, and di'strueliou near allied, 
^And in;iny a lowia' lor some 1'air misehief wOh, 
Saw the diseolor'd Uhine lienealh its ruin run. 



But 'riiiiu, exidliuji' anil abouudin;^' river! 
]Makiui;' thy waves a blessing' as tliey tlow 
I'lirou;;]! banks whose beauty would endure forever, 
Could man but leave thy briuht ereatiou so, 
>>or its fair jironiisi' from the sui'faee mow 
With the sharp scythe of eonllict, — llien to see 
'JMiy valley of sweet waters, were to know 
Karlh paved like Heaven; and to seem such to me 
Even now what wants liiy stream ? — thai it should Lethe be. 



A thousand battles have assail'd thy banks. 
But the^e and half their fame have ]iass'd away. 
And Shin^hler heapM on hijih his wcltei-iuL;' ranks: 
1'lieir very yravi's are uone, and what are they r 
Thy tide wash'd down the lilood of yesterday. 
And all was st;iinless, and cm thy eleai- slrenm 
(Jlass'd with its dauciui;' liii'ht the sunny ray; 
But o'er the blackeu'd memm-y's bliiiiitiu;^' dream 
Thy waves would v;iiuly roll, all sweepinu' as they seem. 
1,11. 
Thus Harold iuh' said, and p;iss'd along, 
Yet not insensibly to ;dl which here 
Awoke the jocund birds to early souj:; 
In glens which might have made even exile dear: 

* " Wlmt Wiuits that Ivnavo tliiU a kiiiK sliotild hnvc?" was Kins,' Janios's 
qiiiivstjiia on imH'lini; Jolauiy Aniisti'oiig anil liis roUowors in l\ill accoutremonts 
—SCO tliu IJallaii. 




" Beneath these battlements, within those walls, 
Power dwelt amidst her passions." 

Fage 610. 



CANTO III.] CJIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Gil 

Tliou<:h on his brow were ffrnvcn linos aiistorc. 
And traiKjuil sternness wliiitli liiul ta'en tlie place 
Of l'et'lin;;s fierier far hut less severe, 
Joy was not always ahsent from his face, 
But o'er it ill such scenes would steal with transient trace. 

LIII. 

Nor w:is all love shut from liim though his days 
Of iKission luid consumed themselves to dust. 
It is in vain that we would coldly ;L:'nzo 
On such as smile upon us ; the heart must 
Leap kindly hack to kirulncss, thouj^h disji'ust 
Hath wcan*d it from all worldlings ; thus he felt. 
For there was soft remendirance, and sweet trust 
In one fond hrcast, to which his own would melt, 
And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. 

LIV. 

And he had Icarn'd to love, — I know not why, 
For this in such as him seems strange of mood, — 
The helpless looks of blooming infancy. 
Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued, 
To change like this, a mind so far imbued 
With scorn of man, it little boots to know; 
But thus it was; and tho\igh in solitude 
.Small jKiwcr the nipp'd ail'cctions have to grow. 
In ]nm this glow'd when all l>eside had ceased to glow. 

LV. 
And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, 
Which unto his was bound by stronger ties 
Than the church links withal : and, though unwed, 
That love was pure, and far above disguise, 
Had stood the test of mortal enmities 
Still undivided, and cemented more 
By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; 
But this was firm, and from a foreign shore 
Well to that heart nught his these absent greetings pour! 
1. 
The castled crag of Di'achcnfcls * 
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
Whose lireast of waters broadly swells 
Between the lianks which bear the vine, 
And hills all rich with hlossom'd trees, 
And fields which promise corn and wine, 
And scattcr'd cities crowning these, 
"Whose far white walls along them shine, 
Have strew'd a scene, which I should see 
With double joy, wert thou with me. 

* The castle of Draclienfels stnnds on tlie liigliest summit of " The Seven 
Mountains," over tlie llliine baiilis; it is in ruins, anil connected with sonic 
sin.tinlur truditions. It is the first in view on the roait t'nim Bonn, but on the 
opposite side of the river. On this bank, nearly facing it, are the remains of 
anotlic-i-, called the Jew's Castle, and a larftc cross conimcniorative of the 
munki-ofu chief by his brother. The number of castles and cities aloTig the 
course i.f tlic Kliine on both sides is very great, and their situations remark- 
ibly beautilul. 



612 CITILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto m 

2. 

And peasant jjirls, with deep-blue eyes, 
And hands which offer early flowers, 
Walk smilinfi' o'er this paradise ; 
Above, the frequent feudal towers 
Through green leaves lift their walls of gray. 
And many a rock whicli steeply lowers. 
And noble arch in proud decay, 
Look o'er tliis vale of vintage-bowers ; 
But one thing want these banks of Rhine, — 
"Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 



I send the lilies given to me ; 
Though long before thy hand they touch, 
I know that they must withcr'd be. 
But yet reject them not as such ; 
For I have chcrish'd them as dear, 
Because they yet may meet thine eye, 
And guide thy soul to mine even here. 
When thou Ijchold'st them drooping nigh. 
And know'st tlicra gather'd by the Rhine, 
And offer'd from my heart to thine ! 

4. 
The river nobly foams and flows. 
The charm of this enchanted ground. 
And all its thousand turns disclose 
Some fresher beauty varying round : 
The haughtiest breast its wish might bound 
Through life to dwell delighted here; 
Nor could on earth a spot be found 
To nature and to me so dear. 
Could thy dear eyes in following mine 
Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! 

LYI. 

By Coblcntz, on a rise of gentle ground. 
There is a small and simple pyramid, 
Crowning the summ't of the verdant mound ; 
Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid. 
Our enemy's — but let not that foi-bid 
Honor to iVIarccau ! o'er whose early tomb 
Tears, big tears, gush'd from the rough soldier's lid. 
Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, 
Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. 



Brief, brave, and glorious was his young career, — 
His mourners were two hosts, his iViends and foes, 
And fitly may the stranger lingering here 
Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ; . 
Forhe was Freedom's champion, one of those. 
The few in number, who had not o'crstept 
The charter to chastise which she bestows 



CANTO III.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 613 

On snch as wield her weapon'! ; lie had kept 
The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.* 

LVIII. 

Here Eln-cnhreitstein.f with her shatterM wall 
Black with the miner's blast, upon her height 
Yet shows of what she was, when shell iuul ball 
Rebounding idl}' on her strength did light : 
A tower of victor^', from whence the tlight 
Of baffled foes was watch'd along the plain : 
But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight, 
And laid those proud roofs bare to Summer's rain — 
Ou which the iron shower for years had pour'd in vain: 

LIX. 

Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long delighted 
The stranger fain woidd linger on his way I 
Thine is a scene alike whore souls united 
Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray; 
And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey 
On self-condemning bosoms, it were here. 
Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay. 
Wild l)ut not rude, awfid }'ct not austere, 
Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year, 

LX. 

Adieu to thee again ! a vain adieu ! 
There can be no farewell to scene like thine, 
The mind is color'd by thy every hue; 
And if reluctantly the eyes resign 
Their cherish 'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine ! 
'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise ; 
More mighty si)ots may rise — more glaring shine. 
But none unite in one attaching maze 
The brilliant, fail', and soft, — the glories of old days. 

• The monument of the young and lamented General Marcoaii (killed by a 
ritle-liail at Altunkirclien, on the last day of the fourth year of the l-'rench 
repuiilie) still remains as described. The" inscriptions on his moiuinient arc 
rather too Iciny, and not required — his name was enough. France adored, and 
her enemies admired; both wept over liim. His funeral was attended by the 
tenerals and detaelnnents from both armies. In the same grave (Jeneral Hoche 
is interred, a gallant man also in every sense of the word; but lliougli he dis- 
tinguished Inmself greatly in battle, he had not the good fortune to die there : his 
death was attended by suspicions of poison. A separate monument (not over 
his body, which is biiried by Marceau's) is raised for him near Andernach, 
opposite" to which one of his most memorable exploits was performed, in throw- 
ing a bridge to an island on the Uliine. Tlie shape and style are different from 
that of Maneau, and the inseriiition more simple and pleasing:—" Tlie Army of 
tlie Sanilirc and Meiise to its Commander-in-Chief, Hoche." This is all, and 
as it slioiiM he. Iloc'lie was esireiiu'd among the first of France's earlier gen- 
erals. hriniT r.iioiiaparte Tiionopoh/M'd her triumphs. He was the destined com- 
mand) r of Iho invading army of Ireland. 

t Elirenljreitstein, i. e., "tlie broad stone of honor,'" one of the strongest 
fortresses in Europe, was dismantled and blown up by the French at the truce 
))f Lcoben. It had been, and could only be, reduced by famine or treachery. 
It yielded to the former, aided l)y surprise. After having seen the fortifications 
of Gibraltar and Malta, it did not much strike liy comparison ; but the sii nation 
is commanding. General JIarceaii l)esieged it iii vain for some time, and 1 slept 
in a room where I was shown a window at which he is said to have been stand- 
ing observing the progress of the siege by moonlight when a ball struck imme- 
diately below it. 



614 CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto hi. 



The ncirlisrently prand, the fruitful liloom 
Of coniiuu' rijUMa'ss, the white city's shecu, 
The rolliuij: stream, the jn'ceipiee's j^looni, 
Tlie lore.st's ji'rowth, and Gothic v/alls bctwcco, 
The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets bceu 
In moclcer>' of man's art ; and these withal 
A race of traces ha])pj' as tlic scene, 
Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, 
Still springing' o'er thy banks, though Empires near tLeiii fall 

LXII. 

But these recede. Above me are the Alps, 
The i)alaces of Nature, whose vast walls 
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
And thronetl lOternity in icy halls 
01 cold sublimity, where forms and tails 
The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! 
All that expands the spirit, yet appalls. 
Gather around these summits, as to show 
How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below 



But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan. 
There is a spot should not l)e pass'd in vain, — 
Morat ! the proud, tlie patriot Held! where man 
May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain. 
Nor blush for those who conquer'd on that plain; 
Here Burguuily l)equeath'd his toml)less host, 
A bony Ilea]), through ages to remain, 
Themselves their monument ; the iStygian coast 
Uusepuicln-ed they roam'd, auil shriek'd each wauderinj; 
ghost.* 



"Uliile Waterloo with Canniv's carnage vies, 
JNIorat and INIarathon twin names shall stand; 
They were true (ilory's stainless victories, 
Won by the uuand)itioiis lieart and liand 
Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band. 
All unbought champions in no princely cause 
Ot vice-cntail'd Gorruptiou; they no land 
Dooni'd to bewail the blasphemy of laws 
Making kings' rights divine, by some Draconic clause. 

* The chapel is itestroysd, and the pyramid of bones diminished to a small 
!iuml)er liy the Biir.iiumiiaii legion in "the service of France, who aiixiously 
etl'aced tliis record of their ancestors' less successfid invasions. A feu- still ro- 
luain, notwithstandiii.^ tlie pains taken l)y tiie lUu-yumlians for ai^es (.ill wlui 
passed that wav ninovin^' a Imiic ti> tlirii- n'wn eouiin'\ ). and the |i ss ui>tilialile 
larcenie.s ,it the Swiss iiostilions. wh.> carried tlu-ui oil to sell for kiiile-luuidks 
—a pui'iiose for wliich tlie whiteness imbibed by tlie bleacliiiig of years liad ren- 
dered tliem ill u'reat re(Hiest. 

Of these relies 1 ventured to brins away as much as may have made a quarter 
of a hero, for which the side exense is, 'that if 1 liad not. the next passer-by 
might have perverted tliem to worse uses than the carefnl preservation whicli J 
iutciid for them. 



CANTO III.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 615 

LXV. 

By a lone wall a lonelier column rears 
A gray and griol-woru aspect of ok! days ; 
'Tis the last I'eninant of the wreck of years, 
And looks as with the wild bewilder'd gaze 
Of one to stone converted by amaze, 
Yet still willi consciousness ; and there it stands 
Making a marvel that it not decays, 
When the coeval pride of human hands, 
Levell'd Aventicum, hath strew'd her subject lands.* 

LXVI. 

And there — oh ! sweet and sacred be the name ! — 
Julia — the daughter, the devoted — gave 
Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim 
Nearest to Heaven's, bi'oke o'er a father's grave. 
Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, anil hers would crave 
The life she lived in ; but tlie judge v/as just, 
And then she died on him she could !;ot save. 
Tlieir tomb was simple, and without a i)ust. 
And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one dust.f 

LXVII. 

But these arc deeds wliich should not pass awa}^ 
And names tliat must not wither, thougli the earth 
Forgets her empires with a just decay, 
The enslavers and the enslavcil, their death and birth; 
The high, the mountain-majesty of worth, 
Should be, and shall, survivor of its woe, 
And from its immortality look forth 
In the sun's face, like jondcr Alpine snow,J 
Imi)erishahly pure beyond all things below. 

LXVIII. 

Lake Lcman wooes me with its crj'sta! face,'} 
The mirror where the stars and mountains view 

* Aventicum, near Morat, was the Kotnan capital of Helvetia, where Avou- 
ches now stands. 

t Julia Al^iinula, a youufr Aventian priestess, died soon after a vain ciKlcavor 
to save her tiitlier, condemned to death as a traitor bv Aulus Ca-cina. Her epi- 
taph was discovered m:in,v years ago. It is thus:— "' Julia Alpiiiula: ilic jaceo. 
lui'elicis patris iiit'elix piolos. Vex Aventia; .Sacerdos. Exorare patris iiect-m 
iKiii |ioH;i : Male niori in talis ille erat. Vixi annos Xxiii." I know of no liuman 
e')in|"isitioii so aliV'Ctin;,' as this, nor a history of deeper interest. Tliese are the 
naiiirs and actions which oiiglit not to perish, and to which wo turn with a true 
and lii-aliliy tenderness, tVoni tlir wretched anil Khtterini,' detail of a confused 
mass iif (iiiKinests and h;Ulles, with whicli tlic mind is rousefi for a time to a 
false and fcverisli sympatliy, from whence it recurs at length with all the nausea 
coiisoipient on such intoxication. 

t Tliis is written in tlie eye of Mont Blanc (June 3d, 1816,) wliich even at 
this distance dazzles mine.— (July 20th.) I this day observed for some time the 
distinct iillectiiin of Mont IJlanc and Mont Arsentiere in the calm of the lake, 
wliieii I w ;is (iDssinsjf ill my boat. The distance of these moutitains from their 
uiirrnr is sixty miles. 

S The fulliiwiiiL; t 'Ucliins stanza forins part of the beautiful lines which about 
this time the ixiet addressed to Ins sister: — 

•' 1 did remind thee of onr own dear lake, 

l!y the old hall which may be mine no more. 

Leman's is lair: but tiniik not I forsake 

The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore: 

Sad ha\-oe 'I'iine must with my memory make 

Ere thai or l/ioii can fade these eyes before; 

Though, like all things which I liave loved, they are 

Eesignd for ever, or divided far." 



616 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iil 

The stillness of their aspect in each trace 
Its clear depth yields of their far heinlit and hue : 
There is too mucli of man here, to look tlirough 
With a fit niiud tlie niiyht wliich I hehold ; 
But soon in nic shall Loneliness renew 
Tlioujrhts hid, hut not less eherish'd than of old, 
Ere mingling with the herd had pcnn'd me iu theu' fold. 



To fly from, need not be to hate, manlviud : 
All are not fit with them to stir ami toil, 
Nor is it discontent to keep the mind 
Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil 
In one liot throng, where we become the spoil 
Of our infection, till too late and long 
We may deplore and struggle with the coil, 
In wretched interchange of wrong for wrontr 
'Midst a contentious workl, striving where none are strong. 



There, in a moment, we may ]ilunge our years 
In fatal penitence, and in the blight 
Of oiu" own soul, turn all oiu- blood to tears. 
And color tilings to come witli hues of Xight; ^ 
The race of life becomes a liopeless flight 
To those tliat walk in darkness : on the sea. 
The boldest steer but where their ports invite. 
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity 
Whose bark tUives on and on, and auclior'd ne'er shall be. 

LXXI. 

Is it not better, then, to be alone. 
And love Earth only for its earthly sake ? 
By tlie blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,* 
Or the pure bosom of its nursing lake. 
Which feetls it as a uiotiier who doth make 
A fair but froward infant her own care. 
Kissing its cries away as tlicse awake ! — 
Is it not better thus our lives to wear, 
Than join the crushing crowd, doom'd to inflict or bear ? 

Lxxn. 

I live not in myself, but I become 
Portion of tliat around me ; and to me 
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum 
Of human cities torture : I can sec 
Nothing to loathe in natui"c, save to be 
A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, 
Class'd among creatures, when the soul can flee, 
And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plain 
Of ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. 

» The color of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of tint which I have 
never seen equalled iu water, salt or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and 
Archipelago. 



CANTO in.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 6I7 

LXXIII. 

And t!ius I am absorb'cl, and this is life : 
I look upon tlie peopled desert past, 
As on a )ilacc of aiifony and strife, 
Where, for some sin, to Sorrow I wa,s cast, 
To act and suffer, hut remount at last 
With a fresh |)inion; which I feel to spring, 
Thou<;h youuj;-, yet waxing vigorous, as tlie blast 
Which it would cope with. 011 delighted wing, 
Spurning the clay-cold bonds which round our being clino-. 

LXXIV. 

And when, at length, the mind shall be all free 
From what it hates in this degraded form. 
Reft of its carnal life, save what shall be 
Existent happier in the tly and worm, — 
When elements to elements conform, 
And dust is as it should be, shall I not 
Feel all I sec, less dazzling, but more warm } 
Tlie bodiless thought ? the Spirit of each spot ? 
Of which, even now, I share at times the innnortal lot ? 

LXXV. 

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies, a part 
Of me and of my soul, as I of them ? 
Is not the love of these deep in my heart 
With a pure passion } Should I not contemn 
All objects, if compared with these ? and stem 
A tide of suffering, rather than forego 
Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm 
Of those whose eyes arc only turn'd below, " 
Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow : 

LXXVI. 

But this is not my theme ; and I return 
To that which is immediate, and require 
Those who find contemplation in the urn, 
To look on One, whose dust was once all fire, 
A native of the land where I respire 
The clear air for a while — a passing guest. 
Where he became a being, — whose desire 
Was to lie glorious ; 'twas a foolish quest, 
The which to gain and keep, he sacrificed all rest. 

Lxxvir. 
Here the sclf-tortiu-ing sophist, wild Rousseau, 
The apostle of affliction, he who threw 
Enchantment over passion, and from woe 
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 
The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew 
How to make madness lieautiful, and cast 
O'er erring deeds and thoui;hts a heavenly hue 
Of words, like sunlieams, dazzling as they past 
The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. 



618 CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [c.ajmto m. 

Lxxviir. 
His love was passion's essence — as a tree 
On fire by lig'htning ; with ethereal flame 
Kindled he was, and blasted ; for to be 
Thus, and enamor'd, were in him the same. 
But his was not the love of living' dame, 
Nor of the dead who rise upon our di-eams, 
But of ideal beauty, which became 
In him existence, and o'ertiowing teems 
Along his burning page, distemper'd though it seems. 

LXXIX. 

This breathed itself to life in Julie, ihis 
Investetl her with all that 's wild and sweet; 
This hallow'd, too, the memorable kiss * 
Which every moi-u his fever'd lip would greet. 
From hers, who but with friendship his would meet; 
But to that gentle touch, through brain and breast 
Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat: 
In that absorbing sigli perchance more blest 
Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. 

LXXX. 

His life was one long war with self-sought foes, 
Or friends by him self-banish 'd ; for his mind ^^ 
Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose 
For its own cruel sacrifice the kind, 
'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind, 
But he was frenzied, — wherefore, who may know ? 
Since cause might be which skill could never find; 
But he was frenzied by disease or woe 
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. 

LXXXI. 

For then he was inspired, and from him came 
As fi'om the Pythian's mystic cave of yore. 
Those oracles which set the world in flame, 
Nor ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more : 
Did he not this for France ? which lay before 
Bow'd to the inborn tyranny of years ? 
Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore. 
Till by the voice of him and his compeers. 
Boused up to too much wrath, which follows o'ergrown fears ? 

LXXXII. 

They made themselves a fearful monument ! 
The wreck of old opinions — things which grew, 
Breathed from the birth of time : the veil they rent, 
And what behind it lay, all earth shall view. 

* This refers to the account in his " Confessions " of his passion for the Com- 
tesse d'Houdetot (the mistress of St. Lambert), and his long wallc every morn- 
ing, for the sake of the single kiss whioli was the common salutation of Frencli 
acfiuaiiitance. Rousseau's description of his feelings on this occasion may be 
considered as the most passionate, yet not impure, description and expression of 
love that ever kindled into words; wliich, after all, must be felt, from their very 
force, to be inadequate to the delineation. A painting can give no sulficient idea 
of the ocean. 



CANTO Hi.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 619 

But ji-ood with ill they also overthrew, 
Leaving- but ruins, wherewith to rebuild 
Upon the same foundation, and renew 
Dun<reons and thrones, which the same hour refill'd, 
As lieretolbre, because ambition was self-will'd. 

Lxxxiir. 
But this will not endure, nor be endured ! 
Mankind liave felt their strength, ;ind made it felt. 
The)' might have used it better, but, allured 
By their new vigor, sternly have they dealt 
On one another ; pity ceased to melt 
With her once natural charities. But they. 
Who in oppression's darkness caved had dwelt, 
They were not eagles, nouri.sh'd with the ilay ; 
What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey ? 

Lxxxrv. 

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
The heart's bleed longest, antl but heal to wear 
That which disfigures it ; and they who war 
With their own hopes, and have been vanciuish'd, bear 
Silence, but not submission : in his lair 
Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour 
Which shall atone for years ; none need despair : 
It came, it cometh, anil will come. — the power 
To punish or forgive — in o)ie we shall be slower. 

LXXXV. 

Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, 
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing 
Which warns me, with its stillness to forsake 
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but th^- soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved, 
That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. 

LXXXVI. 

It is the hush of night, and all between 
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen. 
Save darkcn'd .Jura, whose capt heights appear 
Precipitously steep ; and drawing near. 
There breathes a livincf fragrance from the shore, 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the gi-asshopper one good-night carol more ; 

LXXXVII. 

He is an evening reveller, wiio makes 
His life an infancy, and sings his fill; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 



620 CITILDE IIAIWLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iil 

Tlierc sccin-: a floating whisper on the hill; 
lint that is fancy, I'oi- the stailijiiit clews 
All silently their tears of love instil, 
Weci)ini; themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into Nature's breast the spirit ot her hues. 

LXXXVIII. 

Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven, 
If in your hris^ht leaves we would read the fate 
Of men and empires, — 'tis to he forgiven, 
That in our aspirations to he great, 
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, 
And claim a. kindred with you ; for ye are 
A beauty, and a mystery, and create 
In us such li>V(! aiKJ ivverenee from alai'. 
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. 

LXXXIX. 

All heaven and earth are still— though not in sleep, 
But iircathless, as we grow when feeling most; 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep: — 
All heaven and earth are still : From the high host 
Of stars, to the Inll'd lake and mountain-coast, 
All is concentred in a life intense, 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, ^ 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 
Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 

xc. 
Then stii;s the feeling intinite, so felt 
In solitude, wlierc we are least alone; 
A truth, wliicli through our being then doth melt, 
AwX purities from self: it is a tone, 
Tiie soul and source of music, which makes kuowu 
Eternal hariucuiy, and sheds a charm, 
Like to the tabled Cytiierca's zcuic. 
Binding all things with beauty; — 'twould disarm 
The spectre Oeath, had he sui)siantial power to harm. 

XCI. 
Not vainly did the early Persian make 
His altar the high places and the peak 
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains,* and thus take 
A lit and unwall'd temple, there to seek 
The Spirit, in whose honor shrines are weak, 
Uprear'd of luunau hands. Come, and compare 
Columns and idol-dwellings, (Jolh or (Treek, 
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, 
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer ! 

♦ It is to bp rocoUcctPil tliat tlio most bpiuUiful and improssivc doctrines of 
fho Hivino Foiuulor of C'lu'istiauity were delivered, not in tlie Temple, but on 
the Mount, 'to waive tlie questioii of devotion, and turn to luunau eloquence, 
—the most ellcrtunl ;uul siilendid speeiMU'iis were not pronouuood within walls. 
Demostlieues addir>seil tlie pulilie :nul popular asseuililies. Cioero spoke in the 
Koruni. That this adiled to tlieir elleet ou tlic uiiiiil ol lioth orator and hearers, 
may bo conceived from the ditl'ereuee between what we read of the emotions 
thou and there produced, and those we ourselves experience in the perusal iu 



CANTO III.] ClIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. (^21 

xcir. 
The sky is cban'rcci !— and such a chanfjc ! ni"lit 
And stoi'iii, and darkness, ve are wondrous stroii"- ' 
lot lovfly m your strcn-th, as is the liylit "' 

Ol a dark eye in woniun ! Far alonir, 
From poak to peak, tlu; raltlin;,'- c'ra<>'^'amon<' 
lA'aps the live tlumdcr! Not from one lono""doud, 
but every nioiinlain now liatli found a ton'Mie 
And .lui'u answers, throii-h her luistv sIu'o'ikI,' 
Back to tlie joyous Alps, who eall to her aloud ! 

xcni. 

And this is in the ni>>lit :— Most g-lorious ni<'ht! 
Thou wert not sent for shnnber! let ine he" 
A sharer in thy lieree and far delij^lit,— 
A portion of tde tempest and of tlTee!* 
liow the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 
And the hiji' rain comes ilaneinj^- to the ea'rth ! 
And nowMLinin 'tis hiaek,— and now, the i>lee 
Of_ the loud hills siiakes with its niountaii7-mirtli. 
As It they did njoiec o'er a yoiui-- eartlKpiake's hirlh. 

xciv. 

Now where the swift Rhone cleaves his wav hotwecn 
Jleiiilits which appear as lovers who iiave jiarted 
In hate, whose miiiiii;^- depths so iiilcr\cne 
That they can meet ^lo more, thoii-li hrokeii-hearted • 
rhoii-li 111 tiieir souls, which thus each other thwarted 
J^ove was I lie very root of tlie fond ra;;-o 
■\\'liicli iilij;hted their life's bloom, andHicn departed •— 
Itsell exiared, hut Icaviii;^- tiieiii an af^e 
Of years all winters,— war witliin themselves to wage. 

tlioclosot It is nno lliins to rend tho " Iliml ' ;it Si..-;,.,!!,, aii.t on llm inmnli nr 
l.y tl,cspnnKs,witI, Mount Ula al.ovo, and tl„. plninrmu iV ,n n \ H^im^^H^ 

. nl iiKHl to M^y ,,„iM. Loyoml tlio cntluisiasrn ..xcilc.l l,v Its • 'l em. t CI I, 

'|M's c,n). I sli iilil vrntiiiv lojiscrilM. it to tlio praeticc of piviicjnnt; in llio rfW,/ 
ni,l Uu. iinstndie,! ^n.l ..xleniporMnenns wVusions of i,s toM.M ors Tlu \lliss i 

nnins w|,,,se ,.,Ton, s ,l..votion (at least in tl,,. Iow.t or . ■ "'; n , st si e ■ ." 

:nul tlieretoi-e inipi-cssivo, iiro aeenslomed to n.pe.it ir |.n.s,.h I,m ,ri Vms , ,1 

pn.y,w^s whenn'eiMlKT ini.y 1,0, at the stnted lH^n-s-,,f <. nrse X. ' t^ 
"PfM mr. knoelnii,' npon a lljilit mat (wlilel. Iliev .•,,n-v lor t o i nr is i' i 
<>rcusliion,asre,|iii,v,l). The ceremony lasts ' ■ ' "" .l"'.n"'s. ,,t ,, l,e,l 

ili-e totally aljsorhed. and oiilv liviiif; in tlieir 
Ihem. On mo tlio simple and entire sineorilv ,„ ,,k 
iippearcd to he williin and upon them, made' a far . 



are, o,anyabsori;ed.an;. only nwn;;in^h;.i;-;n^^^^ 

them. On mo tho s ,le and entire sineorilv ,,f these men ai , the s -it v ■ 

;;r;^; ^' wiwwl'r.;";:!.:;!';;;' '"'■"■• !"^'•'"' ;• •- '^'-""■- f- --ion"ihan ';';, 

lfil/'fVi'idMWM"''V7,",v''^ tlin.se lines refer ocenrre<i on the I.3th of Juno, 

iPi'., ,it mKniii;ht. I have seen, amoiiff the Aeroeoraanian monntains of Chi.n.iH 
several mure terrP.le, hnt none more beaulifal. monmuinsot tliimail. 



(122 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto in. 

xcv. 

Now, whoro the quick Rhone thus Imtli cleft his way, 
The luijihtiest of tlie storms hath tu'eii his staiul ; 
For here, not one, but many, make their phiy, 
Anil ilini;' their thunderbolts from haiul to hand. 
Flashing' and east around; of all the band, 
Till' bri'uhtest throu;;li these parted hills hath fork'd 
His liuhtnini;.*, — as if he did understand 
That in such j;'aps as desolation work'd, 
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein Inrk'd. 

XCVI. 

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lif,''htnin!Xs ! ye! 
'With ui^'ht, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feelinii', well may l)e 
Thinu's that have made uie watchful; the far roll 
Of your departing voices, is the knoll 
Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where of ye, O tempests ! is the goal ? 
Aie ye like those within the human lireast ? 
Or do ye fin<l, at length, like eagles, some high nest ? 

xcvir. 
Could I embody and unbosom now ^ 

That which is most witiiin me, — could I ^vrcak 
]My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw 
iSoul, heart, mind, ))assions, feelings, strong or weak, 
All tliat I would have sought, and all 1 seek. 
Boar, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word, 
And that one word were Lightning, I would speak; 
But as it is, I live and die unhcanl, 
AVith a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. 

XCVIII. 

The morn is np ;igain, the dewy morn, 
"With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, 
I,augbiug the clouds away with ]ilayfid scorn, 
And living as if earth contain'il no tond), — 
And glowing into day : we may resume 
The march of our existence : and thus I, 
Still on thy shores, fair Lenian ! may find room 
And food for meditation, nor pass by 
Much, that may give us jiause, if pondcr'd fittingly. 

XCIX. 

Clarens ! sweet Clarcns ! birthplace of deep Love ! 
Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought; 
Thy trees take root in love; the snows above 
The very Cilaciers have liis colors caught, 
And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought 
By rays which sleep there lovingly : the rocks. 
The permanent crags, tell lierc of Love, who sought 
In them a refuge from the worhlly shocks. 
Which stir and sting the soul with hope that wooes, then 
mocks. 



CANTO III.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. {]23 



Clarens ! by heavenly feet fhy paths arc trod, — 
UiKlyin<r Love's wlio here ascends a throne 
To whicli tlie stei)s are nioiiutains ; where tlie god 
Is a pcrvadhifi' lil'c and li^''ht, — so shown 
Not on those suiiiniits solely, nor alone 
In the still cave and forest ; o'er the llower 
His eye is sparkling, and his I)reath hath blown, 
His soft ami summer breath, whose tender power 
Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. 

CI. 

All things are liorc of him; from the black pines, 
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar 
Of torrents, where he listcneth, to the vines 
Which slope his green path dovvnward to the shore, 
Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore. 
Kissing his feet with murniurs; and the wood, 
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, 
l>ut light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, 
Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude. 



A populous solitude of bees and birds. 
And fairy -form'd and many-color'd things. 
Who worship him with notes more sweet than words. 
And innocently oi)en their glad wings 
Fearless and full of life : the gush of springs. 
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend 
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings 
The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend. 
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. 



He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore. 
And make his heart a spirit; he who knows 
That tender mystery, will love the more, 
For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes. 
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those, 
For 'tis his nature to advance or die : 
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows 
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie 
With the immortal lights, in its eternity ! 



'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, 
Peopling it with ailcctions; but he found 
It was the scene wliich passion must allot 
To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground 
Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound, 
And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone. 
And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound. 
And sense, and sight of sweetness; here the Rhone 
Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a throne. 



624 CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iu 



Lausanne ! and Forney ! ye have been the abodes 
Of names which unto you hcqueath'd a name ; * 
Mortals, who soujrlit and found, by dangerous roads, 
A path to perpetuity of fame : 
They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim 
Was, Titan-Hke, on daring doubts to pile 
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the ilame 
Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while 
On man and man's research could deign do moi-e than smile. 

cvi. 
The one was fire and fickleness, a child. 
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind 
A wit as various, — gay — grave — sage — or wild — 
Historian, bard, philosopher, combined ; 
He multiplied himself among mankind, 
The Proteus of their talents : But his own 
Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind, 
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, — 
Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to slialie a throne. 

cvn. 
The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought^ 
And hiving wisdom with each studious year. 
In meditation dwelt, witli learning wrought. 
And shaped his weapon witli an edge severe, 
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; 
The lord of irony, — that master-spell. 
Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, 
And doom'd him to the zealot's ready hell. 
Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. 

• CVIII. 

Yet, peace be with their ashes, — for by them, 
If merited, the penalty is paid ; 
It is not ours to judge, — far less condemn ; 
The hour must come when such things shall be made 
Known unto all, — or hope and dread allay'd 
By slumber, on one pillow, — in the dust, 
Which, thus much we are sure, must lie decay'd ; 
And, when it shall revive, as is our trust, 
'Twill be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. 

CIX. 

But let mc quit man's works, again to read 
His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend 
This page, which from my reveries I feed, 
Until it seems prolonging without end. 
The clouds above me to the white Alps tend, 
And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er 
May be permitted, as my steps I bend 
To "their most great and growing region, where 
The earth to her embrace compels the powers of aii'. 

* Voltaire and Gibbon. 



CANTO III.] CTIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 625 

ex. 

Italia! too, Italia! looking; on thee 
Full tlaslics on the soul the li.uht of ages, 
Sinee the fierce Carthaginiau almost won thee, 
To the last halo of the chiefs and sages, 
Who glorify thy consecrated pages ; 
Thou wcrt the throne and grave of empires ; still, 
The fount at which the panting mind assuages 
Her thirst for knowledge, quatfing there her fill, 
Flows from the eternal source of llomc's imperial hill. 

CXI. 

Tl'.us far have I proceeded in a theme 
Renew'd with no kind auspices : — to feel 
We are not what we have been, and to deem 
We are not wliat we should l)e, — and to steel 
The heart against itself; and to conceal. 
With a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught, — 
Passion or feeling, purpose, grief, or zeal, — 
Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought. 
Is a stern task of soul ; — No matter, — it is taught. 

CXII. 

And for these words, thus woven into song, 
It nuiy he that they ai-e a harmless wile, — 
The coloring of the scenes which fleet along, 
Whicli I would seize, in passing, to beguile 
My breast, or that of others, for a while. 
Fame is the thirst of youth, — but I am not 
So young as to regard men's frown or smile, 
As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ; 
I stood and stand alone, — reniember'd or forgot. 

CXIII. 

I have not loved the world, nor the world me; 
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd 
To its idolatries a patient knee, — 
Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, — nor cried aloud 
In worship of an echo; in tlie crowd 
They could not deem me one of such ; I stood 
Among them, but not of them; in a shroud 
Of thoughts which were not their thouiihts, and still could, 
Had I not filed * my mind, which thus itself subdued. 

cxiv. 
I have not loved the world, nor the world me, — 
But let us part fair foes ; I do believe, 
Though I have found them not, that tliere may be 
Words which are things, — hopes which will not deceive, 
And virtues which are merciful, nor weave 
Snares for the failing : I would also deem 
O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve; 
That two, or one, are almost what they seem, — 
That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream. 

* — " If it be thus, 
For Baiiquo's issue have I filed my auwA."— Macbeth. 
40 



62G CUIIJ)K IIAIiOLD'S riLGRIMAGE. [canto iv. 

cxv. 
My (laTifrhtor ! with tliy niuiio tliis soiijj licfriiii — 
My (laiiiilitcr ! with tliy luiiiic thus much shall end — 
1 SCO llico not, — 1 hc;ir thee not;, — hut none 
(villi ho so wriijil in Ihce; thou iirt the iViend 
To whom the shadows of i'ar ycMrs extend : 
Alhcit my hi-ow thou ncvci- sliouhlst, hohold, 
My voic(! shall with thy rutiiri" visions hlend, 
And reiich into thy heart, ^ — wlien mine is cold, — 
A token aiul ;i lone, I'vcn from thy father's mould. 

CXVI. 

To aid thy mind's development, — to waleli 
Tliy (lawn of lilllr Joys, — to sit. and see 
Almost thy \vv\ j;rowth, — to view thee catch 
Ivnowledi^e of ohjeet.s,— wonders yet to tlico ! 
'I'o liold thee lijihily on a, jjentlc knee, 
And jirinl on thy soft cheek a piU'cnt's kiss,— 
'J'his, it should seem, was not reserved for me; 
"^'et- this was in my nature : — as it is, 
I know not what is there, yet something like to this. 

CWII. 
Yet, lhon^h ,lidl llnle ;is duty should lie t;iuj;h1, 
1 know lh;il Ihon wilt !o\ i' nii' ; thoui^h my naiuo 
Should lie shut from thee, as a sjiell still fraughjj^ 
With desolation, — iind ;i hroktMi claim : 
Though the ;;rMve closed helwei'n us,— 'twere the same, 
1 know thai llioii will lo\e me; Ihonu'li to drain 
My lilood from out thy heini;' were an aim. 
And iui attainment, — all would he in vain, — 
fitill thou wouldst love mo, still that more than life retain. 

CXVIIl. 
The ciiild of lo\ (', — thonL;h liorn in liitterness, 
And nurtured in eouvulsion. Of thy sire 
These were the elements, — and thine no less. 
As yet such are around thee, — hut thy fire 
(Shall he more teni|ier'd, and thy hope far higher. 
iSweet he thy cradled slumliers ! O er the sea, 
And from the mountains where 1 now resjiire. 
Fain would I wal'l sni'h hlessinu- upon thee, 
^.s, with a sigh, I deem thou mightst, have heen to nic ! 



CANTO Till-: FOURTH. 

TO JOHN IIOHIIOUSE, ESQ., A.M., IMl.S., ETC. 

iMv ti'.Ai! lIoiiuorsK : Attor ail iiUcrviil of ci^lit yours botwocn tlio cdiuposi- 
tloii (if tlio ftrst ami lust eoiUns of Cliildc Harold, tlio conclusion of the pooai 
Is about to lio sulinilttcd to tli(> luililic. lu iiartliijj; with so old a tViciid, it is not 
cxlTiiordinar.v tliiit 1 sliotdd ivcur to oiio still older mid licttor, — to oiio who has 
beheld the liirlh and deiilli of the other, and to whom 1 nni far more iiidoblod for 
the social advanlaKes of an onllyhleued iVieiulslilii, than — tlunij;h not uiigrateliil 



CANTO IV.] CIIILDE IIAItorD'S PILGIUMAGE. (527 

— I can, or could bo, to (.'lillde IliiroliI, for any pulilic favor reflected through llio 
poem on the poet, — to one, wlioni 1 have known lonK, and aceonipanlod far, 
whom I have found wakeful ovi-r my tsicKness and kind In my sorrow, (jlad in my 
prosperity and linn In my adversity, true in counsel and trusty in jieril, — to a, 
Iriend often tried and never found wanting; — to yourself. 

In .so doing, I recur from llotioii to truth ; and In dedicating to you, in Us eoni- 
plotc or at least concluded state, a poetical work which Is the longest, tin' most 
thonghlfid iuid eomprehenslvo of my compositions, I wish to do lionor to my- 
R<'lf hy the record of nniny years" Inliinncy with a nn\n ot learning, of talent, of 
steadiness, and of lionor. It Is not for minds like ours to give or to receive (lat- 
tery; yet tlic praises of sincerity have ever hecn permitted to the voice of friend- 
ship; and it Is not for you, nor even lor others, but to relievo a heart which lias 
not elsewhere, or lately, been so much aceustomed to tlic! encounter of good-will 
as to wltlistand the shock llrmly, that T thus attempt to eoinm(!morate your good 
(imilities, or rather the advantages which I liave derived tnmi their cxerlion. 
Kven the reeurrenco of the date of this letter, the anniversary of the most un- 
fortimatc day of my past existence, but which cannot poison my fiitun; while I 
retain the resource of your fl-iendship, and of my nw n faciillics, will henreliirtli 
have a more agreeable recollection foe both, Inasiiiiuli as il will reniiiid us of lliis 
my attempt to thank you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have ex- 
perienced, anil no one could experience witliout thinking better of Ins species 
and of himself. 

It has been our fortune to traverse together, at various periods, the countries 
of chivalry, history, and fable— Spain, (Ireeco, Asia .Minor, and Italy; and what 
Athens and Constantinople were t.-) us a few years ago, Vi'iiice and Uomc have 
lieen more recently. The jioem also, or tlu^ pilgrim, or Ijotli, have accompanied 
nn^ Irom llrst to last; and perhaps It may be a jiardonablc vanity which Induces 
me to reflect witli complacency on u composition which in some degree connects 
me with the spot where it was produced, and the objects It woidd fain describe; 
and however unworthy it may be deemed of those magical and memorable 
abodes, however short it may fall of our <listant conceptions and immedlnte Im- 
pressions, yet as a mark of resjieet for what Is venerable, and of feeling for what 
is glorious, It has been to mi' a source of pleasure in the production, and I part 
with it with a kind of regret, wlilcli 1 hardly suspecled iliat events could have 
left ino for imaginary objects. 

With regard to the conduct of llie last canto, then' will be found li'ss of the 
pilgrim than in any of tlie iireccding, and that Utile slightly, if at all, scparaled 
from the author speaking In his own jierson. The fact Is, that I had liecome 
weary of drawing a line which everyone seemed delerniined not to receive: 
like the Chinese In Uoldsmlth's " Citizen of tlie World," whom nobody would lic- 
lieve to be a Chinese, It was In vain that I asserted, and imagined llial I had 
drawn, a distinction between the author and tlie i)ilgrim; and the very anxiety 
to preserve this dIfTerenco, and disappointment at finding It unavailing, so far 
crushed my ell'orts In the composition, that I determined to abandon It altogether 
— and have done so. TIk; oiiinlons which have lieen, or may be, formed on that 
subject, are ?jo?» a matter of Indillerence; the work is to depend on Itself, and 
not on the writer; and tlie author, who has no resources in Ills own mind beyond 
the reputation, transient or permanent, which is to arise from his literary efforts, 
deserves llic fate of authors. 

In the course of tlie following canto it was my inlenlion, cilhcr in the lext or 
In the notes, to liav<! touched upon the |n'eseiit st;ile of ll.iliaii literature, and 
Dcrhaiis of manners. IJut the text, within the limits I projiosed, 1 soon found 



G28 CIIILDE nAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto it 

hardly siiffloient for tlic labyrinth of external ol)jccts, and the consequent 
reflections; ami for tluMvliolo of the notes, excepting a few of tlie shortest, I 
am Indebted to yourself, and ilu'se were necessarily limited to tlie elucidation ol 
the text. 

It is also a delicate, and no very fjratefnl task, to dissert upon tlie literature 
and manners of a nation so dissimilar; and rciiuires an attenlion and imjiar- 
tlality which would induce us — tlionj;h perhaps no Inattentive observers, nor 
Ignorant of the language or customs of the people amongst wlioni we have re- 
cently abode — to distrust, or at least defer our judgment, and more narrowly 
examine our infonualion. Tlie slate of lilcrary, as well as iiolitieal party, ap- 
pears to run, or to /inra run, so high, that for a stranger to steer impartiallT 
between them is next to impossilile. It may be enough, then, at least for my 
purpose, to quote fl'om their own beautiful language: "Miparceiie in un p;iese 
tutfo poetico, eho vanta la lingua la phi nobile ed insieme la piii ilolce, lu:te 
tutte le vie diverse si possono tcntare, e clie shicho la patria di Alllerl e di 
Jlonti non ha pcrduto 1' antico valore, in tutte essa dovrebbe essere la prima."' 
Italy has gn^at names still. Canova, Monti, Ugo Koseolo, Pindemonti, Viseonii, 
Jlorciii, Cieognara, Albrizzi, Me/.zophanti, Jlai, Mustoxidi, Aglieiti, and Vi'.cca, 
will secure to the present generation an honorable place in most of the depart- 
ments of art, science, and belles-lettres; and in some the very liigiiest: Europe 
— the World — has but one t'anova. 

It has been somewhere saiil by Alllerl, that " La pianta uomo nasce phi ro- 
busta In Italia chc in <iualungue altra terra — e clic gli stessi atroi;M1elitti die vi 
si commettono no sono una prova." 'Witiiout subscribing to tlie latter part of 
his proposition — a dangerous doctrine, the truth of wliicli may he disputed on 
better grounds, namely, that the Italians are in no res]ie(l niore ferocious than 
their neighbors — that man must be willully blind, or ignoranlly heedless, who is 
not struck witli the extraordinary capacity of this people, or, if such a word b;- 
ndmissible, their (•n/xtliilities, the facility of tlieir acquisitions, tlie rapidity of 
their conceptions, the lire of their genius, their sense of beauty, and. amidst all 
the disadvantages of repeated revolutions, the desolation of battles, and the 
despair of ages, their still unqueiichod " longing after immortality." — the immor- 
tality of independence. And wlien we ourselves, in riding round the walls of 
Rome, heard the simple lament of the laborers' chorus, '" Koma ! Homa! Itoina! 
Koma non e piii come era prima," it was dithcult not to contrast this nielaneluily 
dirge with the bacchanal roar of the songs of exultation still yelled from tho 
London taverns, over the cariia;;e of Mont .'^t. Jean, and the bcliayal of (ienoii, 
of Italy, of Krance, and of the w irld, by men whose conduct ycui yourself have 
exposed in a work worthy of the better days of our history. For me, — 
" Non niovero niai corda 
Ovc hi tiirba di sue ciancc nssorda." 

■What Italy has gained by the late transfer of nations, it were useless foi 
Englishmen to inquire, till it becomes ascertained that England has acquired 
something more than a permanent army and n suspended Habeas Corpus: 
It is enough for them to look at liome. I'la- what they have done abroad, and 
especially in the south, " Verily '.hey «•)'// /lave their rewanl," and at no very 
distant period. 

Wishing yon, my dear Ilobhonse, a safe and agreeable return to that country 
whose real welfare can be dearer to none than to yourself, 1 dedicate to you this 
poem In its completed state; and repeat once more how truly I am ever, your 
obliged and alfectionatc tVlend, 

BYKON. 
■Venice, Jan. 2, 1818. 




I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sislis ; 
A palace and a prison on each hand." 

Page 629. 



CANTO IV.] CIIILDE n.lROLiyS PILGRIMAGE. G29 

CANTO IV. 



I STOOD ill Venice, cm tho l>ri(l<;c of Sighs; 
A iKiluci' and ;i prison on cnvh Imnil: 
I Hiiw from out the Wiivo her strueturcs rise 
As IVoni the stroke of the eneh;intei''s waiul : 
A tliousiinil veMis their cloudy winys expand 
Around nie, and a dyinj;' (Jlorv smiles 
O'er the far linu's wjien many a subject laiul 
LookM to the winged Lion's nuirlili' jiiles, 
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles! 

II. 
She looks a sea ( Vhele, i'resh iVoui dceaii, 
llising with her tiara of proud lowers 
At airy distanci', with uia.jesdc motion, 
A ruler of the waters and their powers : 
And such she was ; — her daughters had their dowers 
From spoils of nations, and the e\haustless Jiast 
Ponr'd in hei- lap all gems in sparklin^^ showers. 
In jiurple was she rohed, and of her feast 

Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. 
III. 
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no nioi-e, 
And silent rows the souglcss gondolier: 
Her palaces arc crumbling to the shore, 
And musii; meets not always now the ear: 
Those days are gone — hut'lieauty still is hero. 
States fall, arts faik — hut Nature doth not die, 
Nor yet fiu'get how N't'uicc oucc was dear. 
The pleasant place of all festivity. 

The revel of the earth, the mas(|ue of Italy! 

IV. 
But unto lis she hath a spell beyond 
Her name in story, and her long array 
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond 
Above tile dogeless city's vauish'd sway; 
Ours is a tro])hy which will not decay 
With the liialto; Shyloek and the Moor, 
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away — 
The keystones of tlic arch ! though all were o'er, 
For us rcpeo])led were the solitary shore. 

V. 

The beings of the mind arc not of clay; 
Essentially immortal, they create 
And uinltiply in us a iirighter ray 
And more beloved existence : thiit which Fate 
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state 
Of mortal bondage, liy these spirits supplied, 
First exiles, then replaces what we hate; 
Watering the heart whose esirly llf)wers have died, 
And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 



630 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 



Suoli is. 'lie refii'^o of oiii' youtli ;iml ni^o, 
'J'lii' \\y<\ tVoiii lli)|u', till' lii-il iVoin \'ac;iiu'y; 
Aiiil 11ii> wiirii rcH'liiiLi' in'opli's many a liaj;o, 
And, may hi', (hat. which <;ro\vs bcncatli mine eye: 
Yot thiTO iiro thiii^i'.s whose stroiiji: roalily 
Outshines our I'airy-huul; in shape and hues 
More! i)e:irtit'nl tlian our lar.taslic sky, 
And the sl.anu'o rdnstcUations wiiicii the Muse 
O'er lior wild universe is sIviU'ul to ditliise : 

Ml. 
I saw or divam'd of sueli, — hut let them f^'o, — 
They came like truth, and disappear'd Hive dreams; 
And whatsoe'er they wore — are now hut so; 
1 eonld replace them if I would : still teems 
My mind with many a form which a|)tly seems 
iSuch as 1 sou^i'iit lor, and at nu)ments found; 
l^et these loo jj'o — for wakinj^' Reason deems 
Such overweening fantasies unsound, 
And other voices speak, and other sights surrouud. 

vm. 
I've tiiu<;ht uio other tonfjues — and in strange e)iC3 
Have made me not a stranger; to the mind 
\\'hich is itsell", no changes hring surprise; 
Kor is it harsh iJ make, nor haril to lind 
A country witii— -ay, or without maukiutl; 
Yet was 1 horn where men are proud to lie, 
Not witiiout cause; and should I leave i)ehiiul 
The inviolate islai d of the sage and free, 
And seek me out a lijme by a remoter sea, 

IX. 

I'erliaps I loved it wi'll : and should I lay 
My ashes in a soil wliich is not mine, 
!My sjiirit shall resume it — if we may 
I'nhodicil choose a sanctuary. I twine 
JNly iiopes of l)cing rcmember'd in my line 
\\ilh my laud's language: if too i'onil and far 
These aspirations in their scope incline, — 
If my fame should l)e, as my fortunes are, 
Of hnstv growlh luul blight, and dull Oblivion bar 



l\ly name from out the ti'uiiile where the dead 
Are honor'd by the nations — let it be — 
And light the laurels on a loftier head! 
.Vnd lie the Spartan's e])itMph on me — 
"Sparta hath many a worliiier son than he." 
^leaiUime 1 seek no sympathies, nm- need; 
The thorns which I have rcap'd are of the tree 
I plaule>l, — they have torn nie, — and 1 bleed: 
I should have known what fruit would spring from such 
11 seed. 



CANTO IV.] cniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 631 

XI. 

The spouseless Adriatic mourns tier lonl • 
Anil annual niarriajic now no more lenewVl 
1 lie Uucentaur lies rotting- unrestoml, 
Aejrleeled garment of her ■\vidowiiooil ! 
f^t. JVIai-lv yet sees his lion where he stood 
htand hut in moekerj ol' his wither'd power 
Over the proud Plaee where an Emperor sued 
And mouarehs gazed and envied in the hour ' 
vv lien Vcmce was a. quecu with an uuequallVl dower, 

xu. 

The Suahian sue.l, and now the Austrian rci.'ns— 
An ivmperor tramples where an Emperor knelt- 
Kini;-(lonis are shrunk to provinees, and chains ' 
I lank over sceptred cities; nations melt 
P rom 1 ower's high pinnacle, when they have felt 
lie sunshine for a while, and downward -o 
J.ilve iaiiwme loosen'd from the niountaii>'s t>clt- 
()h lor (me hour of l.li„,l old Dandolo! 
Ill octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. 

xiir. 

Before St Mark still glow his steeds of brass, 
llieir gilded collars glittering in the sun: 
iiut IS not Dona's menace come to pas-s > 
Are t hey not bridhd /-Venice, lost and won. 
Her thirteen hiindivd ycai-s of freedom done, 
^inks, ike a sea-weed, into wlience she ro«e ' 
iJelter be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun 
i^W'.n 111 Destruction's depth, her foreign foes, ' 
I'l'oin whom submission wrings an infamous repose, 

XIV. 

Ill youth slie was all glory,— a new Tvtc,— 
'i-r' )^il I'.vword sprung from victorv, 
ilie 1 laiiter of the Lion," which tllrough fire 
And l)loo(l she bore o'er subject earth and sea: 
i hough making many slaves, herself still free. 
Aii(l hurop.-s bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite; 
\\ itncss 1 roy s rival, Candia ! YowXi it, vc 
Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's ti.-ht t' 
tov ye are names no time nor tyranny Jim blight. 

XV. 

Statues of glass-all shiver'd-the long file ' 
Ol her dead Doges are declineil to dust ■ 

ies J.l'''',V''''' ''^''l'' !■'", "=>^' '""' ■■^""M>t>'<>»H pile 
-lie^peaks tin; pageant ot their splendid trust ; 
I heir sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, 
ilaye yielded to the stranger: emptv halls 
1 Inn stivets, and foreign aspects, such as must 
ioo oft remind her who and what I'lithralls, 
llave Hung a desolate cloud o'er N'enice' lovelv walls 



632 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 

XVI. 

When Athens^ armies fell at Syracuse, 
And fettcr'd thousamls bore the j'oke of war, 
Iledcmption rose up in the Attic Muse, 
llcr voice their only ransom from afar: 
See! as they chant the tra<i:ie hymn, the car 
Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins 
Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar 
Starts from its l)elt — he rends his captive's chains, 
And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains. 



Thus, Venice, if no stronyer claim were thine, 
Were all thy proud heroic deeds for'fot. 
Thy choral memory of the Bard divine. 
Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 
Which tics thee to thy tyrants; and thy lot 
Is siiaineful to the nations, — most of all, 
Albion ! to thee : the Ocean Queen siiould not 
Abantlon Ocean's ciiildren; in the fall 
Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 

XVIII. 

I loved her from ray boyhood — she to me ^^ 
Was as a fairy city of the heart, 
Risinoc like water-columns from the sea, 
Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; 
And Otway, IJadclitfe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art, 
Had stamp'd her imane in me, and even so, 
Althouiih I found her thus, we did not part, 
Perchance even dearer in her day of woe. 
Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 



I can rcpcoplc with the past — and of 
The present there is still for eye and thought. 
And meditation chasteii'<l down, cnounh ; 
And more, it may be, than I hoped or soa<,dit; 
And of the Ijappiest moments which were wrougjht 
Within the web of my existence, some 
From thee, fair Venice ! have their colors cauiiht : 
There arc some feelinixs Time can not benumb, 
Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. 

XX. 

■^ 
But from their nature will the tanncn grow 
Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks. 
Rooted in liairenness, where nought l>elow 
Of soil supports tlicm 'gainst the Alpine shocks 
Of eddying storms; yet springs the trunk, and mocks 
The Jiowling tempest, till its height and frame 
Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks 
Of bleak, gray granite, into life it came. 
And grew a giaiit tree ; — the mind ma}- grow the same. 



CANTO v,'.] CIULDE nAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 033 



Existcnrc may be borne, and the deep root 
Of life and sutt'erancc make its firm abode 
In bare and desolated bosoms : ninte 
The camel lal)ors with the heaviest load, 
And the wolf dies in silence, — not bestow'd 
In vain siiould such example be; if they, 
Thinjjfs of ii^noble or of savaj^c mood. 
Endure and shrink not, we of nobler elay 
May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. 



All suffcrin"' doth destroy, or is destro^^'d, 
Even by the sufferer; and, in each event, 
Ends : — Some, with hope replcnish'd and rcbnoy'd, 
Heturn to whence they came — with like intent,' 
And weave their web aj^ain ; some, bow'd and bent, 
Wax p^ray and jihastly, withcrinji' ere their time, 
And perish with the rcetl on which they leant; 
Some seek devotion, toil, war, jiood or crime, 
Accordin;;' ;is their souls were form'd to sink or climb. 

XXIII. 

But ever and anon of <rriefs subdued 
There comes a token like a scorpion's stinnr, 
Scarce seen, l)ut with fresh bitterness imbued; 
And slight withal may be tlie tliiuiis which bring' 
Back on the heart the weiiiht which it would liing- 
Aside for ever : it may be a sound — 
A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — 
A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall v/ound. 
Striking the electric chain wherewith we arc ilarkly bound ; 

XXIV. 

And how and why we know not, nor can trace 
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 
But feci the shock rcnew'd, nor can ctlace 
The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, 
Which out of things familiar, imdesign'd. 
When least we ileera of such, calls up to view 
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind. 
The cold — the changed — perchance the dead — anew. 
The mourn'd, the loved, the lost — too many ! — yet how few ! 



But my soul Avanders ; I demand it back 
To meditate amongst dcca}-, and stand 
A ruin amidst ruins; there to track 
Fallen states and buried greatness, o'er a land 
Which ^l1as the mightiest in its old command, 
Aud is the loveliest, and must ever be 
The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, 
Wherein were cast the heroic and the free. 
The beautiful, the brave — the lords of earth aud sea, 



634 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv 

XXYl. 

The commonwealth of kiu<j's, the men of Rome ! 
And even since, and now, fair Italy! 
ThoTi art the fjarden of the world, the home 
Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree; 
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? 
Thy very weeds are heaiitifid, thy waste 
Moi-c rich than otiier elinies' fertility ; 
Thy wreck a j;lory, and thy ruin graced 
With an immaculate charm which cannot he defaced. 

xxvn. 

The moon is up, and yet it is not nitrht — 
Sunset divides the sky witli her — a sea 
Of ^lory streams alonir the Alpine heiirht 
Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free 
From clotuls, tiut of all colors seems to he 
]\lclted 1(1 one vast Iris of the West, 
^\'hcl■e the Day joins the jitist Eternity; 
A\'hile, ou tlic otiu>r hand, meek Dian's crest 
Floats throu;^h the azure air — ^an island of the blest ! 

XXVIII. 

A single star is at her side, and reitjns 
With her o'er half the lonely heaven; hut still 
Yon suiuiy sea heaves hriu'htly, and remains 
Eoll'd o'er the peak of the far Rluvtian hill. 
As Day and Xijihl eonti'iulinjj: were, until 
Nature reclaini'd her order : — Liently flows 
The deeivdycd Rrenta, where their hues instil 
The odorous purple of a new-horn rose, 
W^hicli streams upon her stream, and filass'd within it glows. 



Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, 
Comes down upon the waters ; all its lines, 
From the rich sunset to the risiny star. 
Their maf;ical variety dill'iise ; 
And now they chanL;i'; a paler shadow strews 
Its mantle o'er the mountains; partin<i" day 
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 
With a new color as it gasps away, 
The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray. 

XXX. 

There is a tomh in Arqua; — rear'd in air, 
Pillar'd in their sarcoj^hagus, repose 
The bones of Laura's lover: here repair 
ISlanv familiar with his well-sung woes, 
The jiilgrinis of his genius. lie arose 
To raise a language, and ids land reclaim 
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes : 
Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 
With his melodious tcai's, he gave himself to fame. 



CANTO IV.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. <;;]-, 

XXXI, 

They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ; 
The niountiin-villiise where his latter days 
Wont down the vale of years; and 'tis tlieir pride-- 
Ail honest pride — and let it bo their praise, 
To of!'er to the i)assin^ atranjier's jiazo 
His mansion and his sepulehre; both phiin 
And venerably simple, such as raise 
A feeling- more aeeordant with his strain 
Than if a pyramid I'onn'd his monumental fane. 

XXXII. 

And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt 
Is one of that complexion which seems made 
For those who their mortality have felt, 
And soiiji-ht a refuno from tlieir hopes dccay'd 
In the deep umbrafjfo of a fj:roen hill's sliailc. 
Which shows a distant prospect far away 
Of busy cities, now in vain displav'cl, 
For they can lure no further; and the ray 
Of a bright sun can make sultieieut holiday, 

XXXIII. 

Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, 
And shilling in the brawling brook, where-by. 
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 
With a calm huigucr, which, though to the eye 
Idlcsse it seem, hath its morality. 
If from society wo learn to live', 
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die; 
It hath no llatterers ; vanity can give 
No hollow aid ; alone— man with his God must strive : 

XXXIV. 

Or, it may be, with demons, who im])air 
The strength of better thoughts, ami sock their prey 
In melancholy bosoms, such as wore 
Of moody texture from their earliest day. 
And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay. 
Deeming themselves predestined to a doom 
Which is not of the i^angs that pass away; 
Making the sua like blood, the earth a tomb. 
The tomb a hell, anil hell itself a murkier gloom, 

XXXV. 

Ferrara ! in thy wide and grass-grown streets, 
Whose symmetry was not for solitude, 
There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats 
Of" former sovereigns, and the antique brood 
Of Ksto, which for many an age made good 
Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore 
Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood 
Of petty power impcll'd, of those who wore 
The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before. 



(J3G CllILDK HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 



And Tiisso is tlioir /j^loiy ami their shame, 
lliirk to his strain ! and then survey liis eell ! 
And see liow di'arly earn'd 'I'orciiiato's I'anie, 
And where Alfonso hade liis jioet dwell. 
The niiseralile despot eould not quell 
The insulted mind he souu'ht to ([ueneli, and hlenU 
A\ilh the snrroMudiui;' nianiaes, in llu' hell 
^^ here he liad |ilnui;i'd il. (dory without end 
Sculter'd tlie clouds away — anil ou that name attend 

XXXVII. 

The tears and jiraises of all time, while thine 
Would rol in i(s ol)livion — in the sinlv 
C)f WH)rtidess dust, whieh IVom thy hoastcd line 
Is shaken into iiothinu'; hut the link 
Tium iormest in his fortunes hids \is think 
Of thy i)oor malice, nauiinu' thee with seorn — 
Alfonso! how thy ducal paiiX'ants shrink 
l'"rom liiee! if iu another station horn, 
Scarce fit to he the slave of him thou mad'st to niour: 



Thou! form'd to eat, and lie despised, and dic^ 
Even as the heasts that (lerish, save that thou 
Hadst a more splendid troujih and wider sty: 
He ! with a j;'lory round his furrow'il hrow, 
M^hicli emanated then, and dazzles now, 
In face of all his foes, the C'ruscan (]uiro, 
And IJoileau, whose rash envy eoukl allow 
No strain whieh shamed his eountry's ercakino; lyre, 
That whetstone of the teeth — niouotouy in wire ! 

XXXIX. 

Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! 'twas his 
In life and death to he tlie mark where Wrong 
Aini'd with her poison'il arrows; hut to miss. 
Oh, victor unsurpassM iu modern .sonLr ! 
Each year hrin;:s fortii its millions; hut how Ions; 
The tide of n'lMU-rations shall roll on, 
And not tl'.e wliole conihined and countless throng' 
Compose a mind like thine! though all in one 
Condensed tiuir scatler'd vays, they would not form a sue, 



(treat as thou art, yet parallcl'd hy those. 
Thy countrymen, l)efore thee horn to shine, 
The Uards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose 
The Tuscan fatlier's comeily divine; 
Then, not unequal to the Florentine, 
The soutliern Si'olt, the nunstrel who eall'd forth 
A new creation witii his mau'ic line, 
And, like the Arioslo of the North, 
Sang' ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth- 



CANTO IV.] OIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. GIJT 



Tlie lii^litninfj vont iVniii Ai'iosto's bust 
Tlie iron crown of liiiiri'l's iiiiniickM leaves; 
Nor was the omiiioiis I'lcniciit unjust, 
For till' true laiircl-wreatli wliiv'li (ilory weaves 
Is of tlio tree no Ixilt of tliiuuli'i- cleaves, 
And the f;ilse senibliuice luit disuraceil his brow; 
Yet still, if fomlly Snpcrslilion ;4i'icvcs, 
Know, Ihiil liic liiihlninj;' saiiclillcs lu'low 
Whate'er it slrikes ; — yon head is doiU)ly sacred now! 



Italia! O Italia! thou who hast 
The fatal ^ift of beauty, which bocanic 
A funeral dower of present woes and past, 
On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploui;h'd by shame, 
And annals j;-raved in characters of ilanie. 
O (Jod I that thou wcrt in lliy nakedness 
Less lovt'ly or n\oyc powerful, and couldst claim 
Thy ri^ht, and awe the rol)hers back, who ]iress 
To shed thy blouil, and ilrink the tears of thy distress; 

XLiir. 
Then mifyht thou more api)Mll ; or, less desired. 
Be homely anil be peaceful, undeplorcd 
For thy destruirtive charms; then, still uutired, 
Woulil not 1)C seen the armed torrents ijour'd 
Down the deep Alps; nor would the hostile horde 
Of many-natioiiM spoik'rs from the J'o 
(^iialV blood and water; nor the straiiycr's sword* 
Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, 
l/'ictor or vanquish'd, thou the slave of friend or foe. 

XLIV. 

Wanderin;,' in youth. I traced llie path of liim, 
The Roman friend of Bome's least mortal mind, 
The friend of Tnlly : as my bark did skim 
The bri<;lit blue waters with a fanning wind. 
Came Mcgara liefore me, and behind 
JEgina lay, Pirauis on the riii'ht. 
And C^orinth on the left ; 1 lay reclined 
Alon<; the prow, and saw all these unite 
In I'uiu, even as he had seen the desolate sight; 

XLV. 

For time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd 
Barbaric dwellings on tlunr shatter'd site. 
Which only make more mourn'd and more endear'd 
The few last rays of their far-seatter'd light. 
And the erush'd relies of their vanish'd might. 
The Roman saw these tombs in his own age, 
These sepulchres of cities, which excite 
Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page 
The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. 



,-,;]8 CUILDE HAROLD'S riLCniMAGE. [canto iv 

M.VI. 

TIimI, jinj^o is iidw lu'lori- iiio, Mini on iniiic 
7//.V couiilrv's niiii lulcliul to the mass 
Of iM'risird stiiU's lio nioiiniM in thiMr decline, 
A\\\ I in (U'solalion : all lliat. «v(.v 
Of lliiMi (lesli-nclion /.v ; luul now, alas! 
]{onu' — Koine iniperiMl, hows her to (he slorni, 
In the same dust and hlaekness, and we |iass 
'I'he skeleton of luTTIIanie form, 
"Wrecks of another world, whose ashes slill arc warm. 

XI. vu. 

Yet, Italy! Ihron.Lih every other laml 
Thy wi'o'n^'s should riu^', and shall, fi-oni side to side; 
Mother i>f Arts! as once of Arms ; thy hand 
Was then our fiiiardian, and is slill our uiiiile; 
Parent of onr Helii^ion ! whom the wide 
Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven! 
I'-nroju-, repentant of her jiarrieide, 
Shall yet reileeni thee, and, all haekward driven, 
IvoU the harhai-ian tide, and sue to he I'oryiven. 

XLVIII. 

Bnt Arno wins us to the fair white walls, ^- 
Where the ICtrnrian Athens elain\s and keeps 
A softer feeling- for her fairy halls, 
(iirt hy her theatre of hills, she reajis 
Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps 
'I'o laui^hinn' life, with her redundant horn. 
Alon^' the hanks whei'e smiliufi' Arno sweeps 
Was modern luxury of C'onuneree horn, 
Anil hnried Learninjv rose, redeem'd to a new morn. 

Xi.ix. 
There, too, the (Joddess loves in stone, and fdls 
The air around with heauty; we inhale 
The audirosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 
i'art of its imniorfalitv ; the vi'il 
Oi heaven is iialf undrawn; within the pale 
\\'e stand, and in that form and face behold 
A\'hat Mind can make, when Nature's self would fart. 
And to the fon.l idolali'rs of old 
Envy the innate llash which such a soul could luuuld : 

L. 

We fj^aze and turn away, and know not whore, 
lia//.led and i:runk with beauty, till the heart 
lieels with its fulness; thew — for ever then — 
t'hain'd ti) the chariot of Irinniphal .\rl. 
Wo stanil as cap.tives, and would not depart. 
7\way i — there need no words, nor terms precise. 
The |>altry jar^'on of the marlile mart, 
■\\'here Pedantry "nils I'olly — we have eyes : 
Blood -]Mdsc — uail breast, coiilirm the Durdau Shepherd'* 
luize. 



CANTO IV.] cii/Lni': iiAROLiys pilcuimaci:. 



(;;i! 



I.I. 

AppojirMsl (lioii nol (o rm-is in lliis cruise ? 
Or (o more deeply blest Aiicliises ? or, 
III iill thy lierlect fi-oddess-sliip, wlioii lio.s 
Heloro thee thy own viiiKpiisliM Loi-d of War? 
And f^iizhi;^' in Ihv liico us towMid ;i sImt, 
I.;iid on tJiy hip, liis eyes to tliee upliirn, 
iM'eilin;;- on thy sweet cheek ! whih' thy lips urn 
Willi l;iv;i kisses ineJIiM^- while they hum, 
Shower'd on liis eyelids, brow, and iiioulh, us from an inn ! 

LH. 

(ilowiiiLT, Jind eiri'iinifnsed in speechless lovo, 
Their lull divinity inadeipiiito 
^'rii.'it feelin;;- to express, or to improve. 
The ;,''ods beeoiiic as mortals, aiul man's fato 
lias moments lilco their briirhtest ; but the wci<ilit 
Of earth recoils upon us; — let it mo! 
We can recall siicli visions, and create, 
From what has been, or miH-ht, be, thin.'s which "row 
Into thy statue's form, and look like "(.ds below. " 



I leave to learned finij:ers, and wise hands, 
The artist and his ape, to leach aiul tell 
IIow well his connoisseurship iindiM-stands 
The {ii"ii-efid bend, and the voliiptnons swell: 
Let these describe the uiKJcseribalile : 
] would not their vile breaHi sJKiidd crisp the .stream 
Wherein that iina.^^c^ shall for ever dwell; 
Th(! nnriillled mirror of the loveliest dream 
That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. 



In Santa Oroee's holy ))ic(unets lie 
Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 
Even in itself an immortality, 

Though there were nolliin>;- save the past, and tin's 
J he particle of those siiblimitJcs 
Which have relapsed to chaos: — licrc repose 
AiiM-elo's, Allicri's bones, and his, 
The starry (ialileo, with his woes; 
Hero Maehiavelli's earth retiirn'd to whence it rose. 

i.v. 

These are four minds, whicli, like the elements, 
JVIi^'-ht furnish fortli creation :— Italy ! 
Time, which halh wrono'd tjiee with io.n thousand rents 
Ol thine imperial tiarment;, shall deny. 
And hath denied, to every other sky," 
.Spirits which so;u- IVoni ruin : — tliv decay 
Is still impre;Lriiate with divinity, 
Which fjikls it with revivifvinfr niy; 
Such is the great oryorc, Caiiova is 'to-day. 



640 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 



But whcro repose tlic all Etruscan three — 
Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, 
The Bard of Prose, creative spirit ! he 
Of the Hundred Tales of love— where did they lay 
Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay 
In death as life ? Arc they resolved to dust, 
And have their country's marbles nought to say ? 
Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust ? 
Did they not to her breast their filial earth entrust ? 



Ungrateful Floi-ence ! Dante sleeps afar. 
Like Scipio, bui'icd by the upl)raidino- shore; 
Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, 
Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore 
Their children's children would in vain adore 
With the remorse of ages ; and the crown 
Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore. 
Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, 
His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine own. 



Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeathed ^' 
His dust, — and lies it not her Great among, 
With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed 
O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ? 
That music in itself, whose sounds are song. 
The poetry of speech ? No ; — even his tomb, 
Uptorn, must bear the hyrena liigot's wrong. 
No more amidst the meaner dead find room. 
Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom ! 



And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust ; 
Yet for this want more noted, as of _yore 
The Caesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust. 
Did but of Rome's best Son remind her more : 
Happier Ravenna ! on thy hoary shore, 
Fortress of falling empire ! honor'd sleeps 
The immortal exile ; — Arqua, too, her store 
Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps, 
While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead, and weeps. 



What is her pyramid of precious stones ? 
Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues 
Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones 
Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dues 
Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse 
Freshness in the green tin-f tliat wraps the dead, 
Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, 
Are gently prest with far more reverent tread 
Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. 



CANTO IV.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. G41 



There be more thin-rs to greet the heart and eyes 
In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine, 
Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; 
There be more marvels yet — but not for mine : 
For I have been accustora'd to entwine 
My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, 
Than Art in galleries : though a work divine 
Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields 
Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields 

LXII. 

Is of another teraj-Kir, and I i-oam 
By Thrasiracue's lake, in the defiles 
Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home; 
For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles 
Come back before me, as his skill beguiles 
The host between the mountains and the shore, 
Where Courage fiills in her despairing files, 
And torrents, swollen to rivers with their gore, 
Reek through the sultry -plain, with legions scatter'd o'er. 



Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds ; 
And such the storm of battle on this day. 
And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds 
To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray. 
An earthquake reel'd unheeiledly away! 
None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, 
And j-awning forth a grave for those who lay 
Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet; 
Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet ! 



The Earth to them was as a rolling bark 
Which bore them to Eternity; they saw 
Tlie Ocean round, but had no time to mark 
The motions of their vessel ; Natin-e's law, 
In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe 
Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds 
Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and withdraw 
From their down-toppling nests ; and bellowing herds 
Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no tvords. 



Far other scene is Thrasimene now; 
Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 
Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 
Ilcr aged trees rise thick as once the slain 
Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta'en — 
A little rill of scanty stream and bed — 
A name of blood from tliat day's sanguine rain ; 
And Sanguinetto tells j'c where the dead 
Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwilling waters red. 
41 



642 CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 



But thoii, Clitiimnus ! in thy sweetest wave 
Of the most living- crystal that was e'er 
The haunt of river nymph, to f^-aze and lave 
Her limhs where nothin<i: hid tliem, thou dost roar 
Thy grassy hanks whereon the milk-white steer 
Grazes ; the purest fjetl of fj^-entle waters ! 
And most serene of aspect, and most clear; 
Surely that stream was uupnifaned hy slaughters, 
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! 



And on thy hajipy shore a Temple still, 
Of small and dcliciite jiroportions, keeps, 
Upon a mild declivity of liill, 
Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps 
Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps 
The finny darter with the glittering scales, 
Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps; 
While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails 
Down wliere the shallower wave still tells its bubbling tales. 

LXVIII. 

Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! ^- 
If through the air a zephyr more serene 
Win to the brow, 'tis his; and if ye trace 
Along his margin a more elocpient green, 
If on the heart the freshness of the scene 
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 
Of weary life a moment lave it clean 
With Nature's l)a.i)tism — 'tis to him ye must 
Pay orisons for tliis suspension of disgust. 



The roar of waters !— from the headlong height 
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; 
The fall of waters! rapid as the light 
The flashing mass foams shakmg the abyss; 
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat 
Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
Their I'hhgclboii, curls round the rocks of jet 
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 



And mounts in sjiray the skies, and thence again 
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round. 
With its nnemptied cloud of gentle rain. 
Is an eternal April to the ground. 
Making it all one emerald : — how profound 
The gulf! and how the giant element 
From rock to rock leajjs with delirious bound, 
Crushing the clitls, which, downward worn and rent. 
With his fierce footsteps, }ield in chasms a fearful vent 



CANTO IV.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 643 

LXXI. 

To tlic lifoad column wliicii rolls on, and shows 
More like the foiuitain of an infant sea 
Torn from tlic womb of monntains by the throes 
Of a new world, than only thus to be 
Parent of rivers, which How }iusiiinj,dy, 
Witli many windini^rs, throuj;ii the vale : — Look back! 
Lo ! where it comes lik(? an eternity, 
As if to sweep down al'i things in its track, 
Charminj,^ the eye with ilread — a matchless cataract, 



IIorril)ly beautiful ! l)ut on the verprc, 
From side to side, bcncatii tiu' filittering' mora, 
An Iris sits, auiiilst tlic infernal siu-ge, 
Tjike Hope upon a tlcath-l)ed, and, unworn 
Its steady dyes, when all around is torn 
IJy the distracted waters, licars serene 
Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn: 
Resend)lin<i-, 'mid the toi'lurc of the scene, 
Love watchiny Madness with unalterable mien. 



Once more upon the woody Apennine, 
The infant Alps, which — liad I not l)eforc 
Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine 
Sits on more sha<;<4y summits, and where roar 
The thunderinL,'- lauwine — niiK'ht be worshipp'd more; 
But I ha\e seen the soarin<>: Junf^fran rear 
Iler never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar 
Glaciers of bleak Mont IJlanc both far and near. 
And iu Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, 



The Acroccraunian monntains of old name; 
And on Parnassus seen the cajoles tly 
I^ike spirits of the spot, as 'twere for fame, 
For still tlu'y soar'd unutterably hij^h : 
I've look'd on Ida with a Trojan's eye; 
Athos, Olympus, ^^tna. Atlas, made 
These hills seem thinij:s of lesser dij^niity. 
All, save the lone iSoracle's heiuht display'd. 
Not now iu snow, which asks the lyric lloman's aid 



For our remembrance, and from out the plain 
Heaves like a lon^-swcpt wave about to break. 
And on llic curl han-is pausinj;- : not in vain 
May he, who will, his recollections rake. 
And quote in classic raptures, and awake 
The hills with Latian echoes; I abliorr'd 
Too niiicii, to conquer for the poet's sake. 
The drili'd didl lesson, forced down word liy word 
III my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 



044 ('IULI)E IfAHOLirS PILaiUMAGE. [CANTO IV. 

LXXVI. 

Aiiu'lit lliat i\'c:ills till' (hnly (Iimi;^' whicli tiiriiM 
My sicUciiiii;;' iiiiMiiory ; iiiid, tli()ii;^'li Tiiiu; liatli taught 
M\ luinil to iiicdiliitti wliiU, llicii it IcaniM, 
Yi't siicli the li\M iiivctcnii V \vroii;iIit 
1)V llic iiupiiliciK'c (if my ciirly llioii^hl, 
'jiiMl, with tii(^ iVcshiu'ss \vc;ii'iii^' out hi'forc 
My iiiiiiil could rcHsh what it iiii^lit hiivc sought, 
Il'IVcc to choose, 1 cannot now restore 
Its licahh ; Imt what il tlieu detested, still abhor. 



Then farewell, lloraoe ; wlioni I hated so, 
Not loi' thy laults, hut mine"; it. is a curse 
'J"o understand, not I'eel thy lyric How, 
To coni|irehcnd, hut never love thy vorsc, 
Although no deeper Moralist rehca-rso 
Our little liCe, nor Itard |ircscrihe his art, 
Nor livelier Satirist, the conscience |iierec, 
Awakening without wounding the toueh'd heart. 
Yet tare thee well -upon Soracte's riilge we part. 



{) Koine ! uiycounlry! city of the soul ! ^^ 

The orphans of the heart nnisl turn to theo, 
Lone uiolherol' dead <'nipires! and control 
In thcii- shut breasts their i)ctty niist'ry. 
What arc our woes and suH'd'aiiec ? ('onic and see 
1'he cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye! 
Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet as fragile as our elay. 



The Niobc of nations ! thei'c she stands, 
Childless and erowuless, in her voiceless woe; 
An empty ui'n within her wither'd hands, 
"Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago; 
The Scipios' tiiuil) contains no ashes now; 
The very scpulchi't's lie tenanlless 
Of tlu'ir hei'oic dwellers : dost thou flow. 
Old Tiber! thi'ougb a marble wilderness? 
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and maiUle her distress. 



The Goth, the Christian, Tinu;, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven-hiird city's pride; 
!She saw her gloi'ii's star liy stai- exjiii'c, 
AikI up the steep barbarian uionarchs riile, 
Whei'c the cai' climh'd the cajiitol ; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — 
Chaos of I'uins! who shall trace the voiil. 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night ? 



CANT(') IV.] ClULDE Il.illOLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 645 

LXXXI. 

Tlic (Icmhlc niji'lit of •.\'^i'<, :ui(l of licr, 
Ni;4lil.'s (liiii<,'litc'r, Ij;iior:uicc, hath wi-apt, and wrap 
All round us; \vc hut, I'ccl oiir way to i-rr; 
"JMic ocoan hath its chart, the stars llicir Miap, 
And Knowlcd^^e spreads (Ihmii on her ample lap; 
IJiil Koine is as the desert, where we s\vv.v 
.SInnihlinj:- o'er recoUeedons ; now we clap 
Our hands, and cry " Ivirc^ka! " it is ck'ar — 
When hut some liilsc iiiirajie of ruiu rises near. 

I^X.XXII. 

Alas! the lofty city! and alas! 
The Irchly Inindred triinnphs! and the day 
When Urulus made the daj^rj^'er's edfj'e surpass 
The eon(iueror's sword in heariiifr fame away; 
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virj;il's lay, 
And Livy's pictured paj^e ! — hnt these sliall ho 
Her resiirre(Uion ; ail hesid(; — decay. 
Alas, for Ivirth, for ne\-er shall we see 
Thai l)i-i;;htness in hci- eye she liorc when liotnc was free! 



O thou, whose chariot roll'd on Fortune's wheel, 
Triumphant Sylla! Thou, who didst suhdiic 
Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to feel 
The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
Of hoarded venjj'eance till thine eaj;les llcw 
C)'er prostrate Asia;— thou, who with thy frown 
Anniiiilated senates — Homan, too, 
With all thy vices, for Ihou ilidst lay down 
With an atoning' smile a more llian earthly crown, 



The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine 
To what woidd on(! day dwindle that which made 
Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine 
Hy auy:ht than liom.'ins IJonu' should thus he laid ? 
Sfie who was n;ime(l Eternal, and array'd 
Her warriors hut to eoiKpiei- — she who vcil'd 
Earth with her hau;ihty shadow, and display'd, 
Until tiie o'er-canopied horizon fail'd, 
Iler rushinjr win;,''s— Oh ! she who was Almighty hail'd ! 



Sylla was first of victors ; hut our own 
l^lie saj^cst of usur])crs, Cromwell ; he 
Too swept off senates whiles he hew'd the throne 
Down to a hlock — immortal rchel ! Hec; 
What crimes it costs to he a, moment free 
And famous through all aii(.'s ! hut heneath 
His fate the moral liu'ks of destiny; 
His day of doulile victory ;in(l death 
Beheld him win two realms, and, h:ippi<;r, yield his hrenth. 



646 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 

LXXXVI. 

Tlio third ol'tho sniiic moon whose former course 
Jlail ;ill hut crown'd him, on tlie sclfsmiie day 
J)('l)i)'^c(l liiiii gently IVoiii liis tiiroiR' ol' force, 
7\nd laid him witii the earth's preccdiiij;- fhiy. 
And sliow'd not Fortune thus how fame and sway, 
And all we deem delijihtfid, and consume 
Our souls to compass throu^^h each arduous way, 
Arc in her eyes less ha]ipy than the tomh ? 
Were they but so in man's, how ditferent were his doom ! 

LXXXVII. 

And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in 
'I'hc austcrcst form of naked majesty, 
'J'hou who hehcldi'st, 'mid the assassins' din, 
At thy l)alhcd liase the hloody (';esar lie. 
Folding;' his rolic in dyiuL;' diLTuity, 
An olforin;;" to thine altar from the queen 
Of };-ods and men, fi'reat Nemesis ! did he die. 
And thou, too, jierish, Pom]icy ? have ye been 
Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a. scene ? 

LXXXVIII. 

And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Romc!^--' 
8he-wolf ! whose hrazcn-innifjed dugs impart 
'J'he milk of cou(|uest yet within the dome 
M'hcrc, as a monument of antiiiuc art, 
I'hou slandest: — Mother of the mighty heart, 
Wiiich the great founder suck'd from thy wild teat, 
tScoi-ch'd by the Roman Jove's ethereal dart, 
And thy liinhs hlack'd with lightning — dost thou yi't 
Guard thiue immortal cubs, nor thy fond charge forget ? 

LXXXIX. 

''i'liou dost; — but all thy foster-balies are dead — 
Tiic HKMi of iron ; and the world hath rear'd 
Cities tVom out tlieir sepulchres; men bled 
In imitation of the things they fear'd, 
And fought and eonijuer'd, and the stime course stcer'd. 
At ai)ish distance; but as yet none have. 
Nor could, the same supremacy liave near'd. 
Save one vain man, who is not in the grave. 
But, vanquish'd by himself, to his own slaves a slave, 

xc. 

The fool of false dominion — and a kind 
Of bastard ('lesar, following him of old 
With steps uuciiual; for the Roman's mind 
Was modell'd in a less terrestrial mould. 
With passions lierccr, yet a judgment cold, 
And an innnortal instinct which redcem'd 
The frailties ()f a heart so soft, yi>t bold. 
Alcides with the distatf now he seem'd 
At Cleopatra's feet, — ^and now himself he beam'd, 



CANTO IV.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 047 

XCI. 
And came, and saw, and conquoi'd ! Hut the niaii 
Who would have tamed his oii^^lcs down to flee, 
Like ;i tniinM falcon, in the (iallic; van, 
Vyiiich he, in soolii. Ion;;- led to victory, 
With a deat' heart whicli never seoni'd to he 
A llstenc'i to ilscll', was stran;;ely framed; 
NVith hut one weakest weakness — vanity : 
Coquettish in ambition, still he aim'd — " 
At what ? (Jan he avouch— or answer what he claim 'd ? 

XCII. 

And would he all or nothin;;— nor could wait 
I'or the sure j^ravc to level him ; few years 
Had )i\'d him with the Ca«sars in his fate, 
On whom we tread : For this the conqueror rears 
The arch of triunqjli ! and for this the tears 
And hlood of earth (low on as they have Ilow'd, 
An universal dclu<;e, which appears 
Without an ark for wretched man's ahode. 
And cbb.s but to rellow !— lleuew thy rainl)ow, God! 

XCIII. 

What from this barren bcin;i- do wo reap ? 
Onr senses narrow, and our reason frail, 
Life short, and truth a >;em which loves the deep. 
And all thin^is wei;4h'd in custom's falsest scale; 
Opinion an omnipotence, — whose veil 
Mantles the earth with darkness, until rit;lit 
And wron;;- are accidents, and men j^row )ialc 
Lest their own jud^^inents should become too lirii:lil, 
And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have loo mucti 
liiiht. 



And thus they plod in slufi'^ish misery, 
Hotting- from sii'e to son, and aj^e to a^'C, 
Proud of their trampled nature, and so die, 
licqueathin;j: their hereditary raj^e 
To the new race of inborn slaves, who wafre 
War for their chains, and rather than be free, 
Blee(l f^ladiator-like, and still cn;^a-e 
Within the same arena where they see 
Their fellows fall before. Like leaves of tlie sumo tree. 

xcv. 

I speak not of men's creeds— thcv rest between 
Man and his Maker— but of things allow'd, 
Averr'd, and known,— and daily, hourly seen — 
The yoke that is upon us doubly bow'd, 
And the intent of tyranny avow'd. 
The edict of Earth's rulers, who are ;;rown 
The apes of him who huuibled oiice thi? i)roiul, 
And shook them from tiicii- shimbers on the throne; 
Too ylorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. 



048 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv 



XCVI. 



Can tyrants but by 1_vr:infs conqtiorM be, 
And Frceiloiii fiiu'l no cliiunpion aii<l no child 
.Such as Cohiniliia saw arise when slie 
Sinning' forth a Pallas, arniM awl undcfilcd ? 
Or must such miinls be nourisliM in the wild, 
Deep in the uniinmod forest, 'midst the roar 
Of cataracts, where nursinu' Nature smiled 
On inlaiit Washington ? lias Earth no more 
Such seeds within her lu'i'ast, or Europe no such shore ? 



But Prance srot drunk with blood to vomit crime, 
And fatal have her Saturnalia been 
"i'o Erecdom's cause, in every asjc and clime; 
Because the deadly days which we have seen, 
And vile And>ition, that iniilt up between 
Man and his hopes an adamantine wall. 
And the base pa;;eaut last upon the scene, 
Are n-rown the iiretext for the eternal thrall 
Which nips life's ti'ce, and dooms man's worst — his 
second fall. 



Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but ilyint:, 
Streams lilvc the tiiMuilia-slorm against the wind; 
Thy truni]M't-voi<'c, Ihou^^h broken now and dyinjj, 
The loudest still liie tempest leavi-s behind; 
Thv tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, 
Chopp'd by the axe, looks rou-h and litlli' worth. 
But the sap lasts— and still the seed we find 
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North; 
So shall a better spriu^r less bitter fruit briny forth. 

XCIX. 

There is a stern round tower of other days, 
Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, 
Such as an army's ballled strength delays, 
Standing with iialf its battlements alone, 
And with two thousand years of ivy grown, 
The garlanil t)f eternity, where wave 
The green leaves over all by time o'orthrown; — 
What was this tower of strength ? within its cave 
What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid ? — A wonian's grav» 



But who was she, the l:idy of the dead, 
Tomb'd in a palace ? Was she chaste and fair? 
Worthv a king's — or more — a lloman's bed ? 
What race of chiefs a)id heroes did she bear? 
What daughter of her beauties was the heir ? 
How lived— how loved— how tlied she ? Was she not 
So houor'd — and conspicuously there. 
When' meaner relics nuist not dare to rot. 
Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot? 



CA^To iv.J CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 049 

CI. 

Was she as those who love their lords, or they 
Wlio love the lords of others ? such iuivo Ijceu 
Even in the olden time, lionie'a annals say. 
Was she a matron ot" Cornelia's mien, 
Or the lijiht air of J'^izypt's f;raeeful tjnceu, 
Profuse of J03' — or 'gainst it did she war, 
Inveterate in virtue ? Did she lean 
To the soft side of the heart, or wisely liar 
Love from amongst her "riofs r — for sueh the affections arc. 



Perchance she died in youth ; it may be, liow'd 
With woes far heavier than the ponderous tonih 
That wei^zh'd upon her licntle thist, a cloud 
JMi^iht pither o'er her beauty, and a gloon» 
In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom 
llcaveu ^ivcs its favorites — earlv death ; yet shetl 
A sunset charm around her, and illume 
A\'ith hectic li,i;iit the Hesperus of the dead, 
Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. 



Perchance she died in age — snn'iving all. 
Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray 
On her long tresses, which might yet recall. 
It may be, si ill a something of the day 
When tlii'v were braided, and her proud array 
And lovely form were imvied, praised, and eyed 
l>y Kome — But, whither would Conjecture stray ? 
Thus nnich alone we know — Metella dietl, 
The wealthiest Roman's wife : Behold his love or pride ! 



I know not why — hut standing- thus by thee 
It seems as if I had thine inmate known, 
Thou Tomb! and other d;iys come back on me 
With recollected music, though the tone 
Is clianged and solemn, like tlu^ cioiuly groan 
Of dying thunder on the distant wind ; 
Yet c-onld 1 seat mc iiy this ivied stone 
Till I had bodied forfii the heated mind, 
Forms from the lloating wreck which lluin leaves behind; 

cv. 

And from the planks, far shattcr'd o'ci" the rocks. 
Built me a little bark of hope, t>nce more 
To battle with the ocean and the sliocks 
Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar 
Which rushes on the solitary shore 
Where idl lies f'oundcr'tl that was ever dear: 
But could I gather from the wave-worn store 
Enough for mj' rude boat, where sluudd I steer ? 
There wooes no home, nor hope, imv life, save what is here. 



G50 CIJILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 



Then let the winds howl on ! their hannony 
Shall henceforth be my music, and the nig'ht 
The sound shall temper with the owlets' cry, 
As I now hear them, in the fadinjr light 
Dim o'er the bird of darlvness' native site, 
Answering each other on the Palatine, 
With their large eyes, all glistening gray and bright, 
And sailing pinions. — Upon such a shrine 
What are our petty griefs ? — let me not number mine. 



C}"press and ivy. weed and wallflower grown 
Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd 
On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strown 
In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd 
In subterranean damps, whore the owl peep'd. 
Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? 
Pronounce who can; for all that learning reap'd 
From her research hath been, that these are walls — 
Behold the Imperial Mount! 'tis thus the mighty falls. 



There is the moral of all human talcs; ^^ 

'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, 
First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, 
Wealth, vice, corruption — barliarism at last. 
And History', with all her vohimes vast, 
ITath but one page — 'tis iietter written hero, 
Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amass'd 
All treasures, all delights, that eye or car. 
Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask — Away with words : 
draw near, 



Admire, exult — despise — laugh, weep, — for here 
There is such matter for all feeling : — Man! 
Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. 
Ages and realms are crowded in this span. 
This mountain, whose obliterated plan 
The pyramid of empires pinnacled. 
Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van 
Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd! 
Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared to build 1 



Tully was not so eloquent as thou. 
Thou nameless column with the l)uricd base! 
What are the laurels of the Caesar's ])row ? 
Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 
Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, 
Titus or Trajan's ? No— 'tis that of Time : 
Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace, 
Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb 
To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime. 



CAXTO IV.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. (Jf,! 



Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, 
And looking' to the stars : tlicy had contain'd 
A spirit wiiioh with these would find a home. 
The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign 'd. 
The Roman jiiobe, for after none sustain'd, 
But yielded hack his con(iucsts :— he was more 
Than a mere Alexander, and unstain'd 
With household blood anil wine, sercneh' wore 
His sovereign virtues— still we Trajan's na'mc adore, 

CXII, 

Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place 
Where Rome embraced her heroes ? where the steep 
Tarpeian ? fittest goal of Treason's race. 
The proniontoiy whence the Traitor's Leap 
Cured all ambition. Did the Conquerors heap 
Their spoils here ? Yes ; and in yon field below, 
A thousand ye;:rs of silenced factions sleep — 
The Forum, where the immortal accents glow. 
And still the eloquent air breathes— burns with Cicero! 

CXIII. 

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood : 
Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, 
From the first hour of empire in the bud 
To that when further worlds to conquer ftiil'd ; 
But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, 
And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; 
Till every lawless soldier who assail'd 
Trod on the trembling Senate's slavish mutes, 
Or raisetl the venal voice of baser prostitutes. 

cxiv. 

Then turn we to our latest tribune's name. 
From her ten thousand tyrants turn to tiice, 
Redeemer of dark centuries of shame — 
The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy — 
Ricnzi ! last of Romans ! While the'tree 
Of freedom's withcr'd trunk puts forth a leaf. 
Even for thy tomb a garland let it lie — 
The forum's champion, and the people's chief — 
Her new-born Numa thou— with reign, alas ! too brief. 



Egeria ! sweet ci-eation of some heart 
Which found no mortal resting-place so fail- 
As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art 
Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air. 
The nymjiholepsy of some fonil despair ; 
Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, 
Who found a more than common votary there 
Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, 
Thou wert a beautifid thought, and softly bodied forth. 



652 CIIILDE HAROLD'S riLGRIMAGE. [canto iv 

CXVI. 

The mosses of thy fountiiin still arc spi-inklid 
With thine Elysian -water-drops; the face 
Of thy eavc-ii-iiardcd spriii"-, witli years iinwrinkled, 
Ecflccts the nieek-cycd senilis of the phice, 
Whose jiTi'cn wild marsin now no more erase 
Art's worlds; nor must the (k;licatc waters sleep, 
Prison'd in niarlilc, huhldinji' from the base 
Of the cleft statue, with a f^entle leap 
The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy creep, 



Fantastically tanuled : the p-een hills 
Are clothed with early blossoms, throu^'h the grass 
The (piiclc-eycd lizard rustles, and the bills 
Of sunniicr-liirds sin^" welcome as ye pass; 
Flowers Iresli in hue, and many in their class, 
Implore the iiausins' step, and with their dyes 
Dance in the solt breeze in a fairy mass; 
Tlie sweetness of tiie violet's deep-blue eyes, 
Kiss'd by the breatli of lieaven, seems eolor'd by its skies. 

CXVIII. 

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, 
Egeria! thy all heavenly l)osom beatinj^ -^^ 

For the far footstejis of "thy mortal lover; 
The purple ]\Iidnisht veil'd that mystic meeting 
With her most starry canopy, and seating 
Thvself by thine adorer, what befell ? 
This cave was only shaped out for the greeting 
Of an eiiaiii():;r'd (ioddess, and the cell 
Haunted by holy Love — the curliest oracle 1 



And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, 
IJlend a celestial with a human heart ; 
And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, 
Share with immortal transport ? Could thine art 
Make them iiuleed immortal, and impart 
The purity of heaven to earthly joys, 
Expel the venom and not blunt the dart — 
The dull satiety which all destroys — 
And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys ? 



Alas ! our young afTections run to waste. 
Or water but the desert ; whence arise 
IJut weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste. 
Hank at the core, though tempting to the eyes. 
Flowers whose wild odors breathe but agonies. 
And trees whose gums are poison ; such the plants 
Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flics 
O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants 
For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. 



CAiJTO IV.] CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. G53 

cxxi. 

O Love ! no habitant of earth thou art — 

An unseen seraph, we believe in thee, 

A fliitli whose martyrs are the broken heart, 

But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall sec 

The naked eye, thy form, as it should l)e; 

The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, 

Even with its own dcsirinu' iihantasy. 

And to a tliou^iiht such sha|ic and ima<ic <jiven. 
As haunts the unquench'd soul — parch'd^wearied — wrung — 
and riven. 

cxxir. 

Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, 

And fevers into false creation : — where. 

Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? 

In him alone. Can Nature show so fair ? 

Where are the charms and virtues which we dare 

Conceive in boyhood an<l pursue as men, 

The unreacli'd Paradise of our despair. 

Which o'cr-infornis the pencil and the pen, 
And overpowers the page where it would bloom again ? 

CXXIII. 

Who loves, raves — 'tis youtli's frenzy — but the cure 
Is bitterer still; as charm liy charm unwinds 
Which robed our idols, and we see too sure 
Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's 
Ideal shape of such ; yet still it binds 
The latal spell, and still it draws us on. 
Heaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds ; 
The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, 
Seems ever near the prize — wealthiest when most undone. 



We wither from our youth, we gasp away — 
Sick — sick; unfouud the iioon — unslakeil the thirst, 
Though to the last, in verge of our decay. 
Some phantom lures, such as we sought "at first — 
But all too late — so are we doulily curst. 
I^ove, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same, 
Each idle — and all ill — and none tiie wcjrst — 
For all are meteors with a ditlcrcut name, 
And Death the sable smoke where vauishes the tlame. 



Few — none — find what they love or could have loved : 
Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 
Necessity of loving, have removed 
Antipathies — luit to recur, ere long, 
Envenom'd with irrevocaiile wront;' ; 
And Circumstance, that unspiritual god 
And miscreator, makes and helps along 
Onr comin','- evils with a crutch-like rod. 
Whose touch turns Hope to dust — the dust we all Itavc trod. 



6;j4 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto iv. 

CXXVI. 

Our life is a false nature — 'tis not in 
The harmony of tliinffs, — this hard decree, 
This uneradicable taint of sin, 
This boundless upas, this all-blasting ti-ee. 
Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be 
The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — 
Disease, death, bondage, all the woes we see — 
And worse, the woes we see not — which throl) through 
The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. 

CXXVII. 

Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base 
Abandonment of reason to resign 
Our right of thought — our last and only place ' , 
Of refuge ; this, at least, shall still be inine : 
Though from our birth the faculty divine 
Is chain'd and tortured — cabin'd,"cribb'd, confined, 
And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
Too brightly ou the unprepared mind. 
The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch tae blind. 



Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome, ^^ 

Collecting the ciiicf trophies of her line. 
Would l3uild up all her triinnphs in one dome, 
Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine 
As 'twere its natural torches, for divine 
•Should be the light which streams here, to illume 
This long-explored but still exhaustless mine 
Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom 
Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume 



Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, 
Floats o'er this vast antl wondrous monument. 
And shadows forth its glorj-. There is given 
Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent, 
A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant 
His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a jiower 
And magic in the ruin'd battlement. 
For which the palace of the present hour 
Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. 



O Time ! the beautifier of the dead, 
Adorner of the ruin, comforter 
And only healer when the heart hath bled — 
Time! the corrector where our judgments eir, 
The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher, 
For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift, 
Which never loses though it doth defer — 
Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift 
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift ; 



CANTO IV.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 655 

cxxxi. 

Amidst this wreck, where thou liast made a shrine 
And temple more divinely desolate, 
Among- thy mightier offerings here ai-c mine. 
Ruins of years— though few, yet full of fate : — 
If thou hast ever seen me too elate, 
Hear me not; Init if calmly I have borne 
Goo<l, and reserved my pride against the hate 
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn 
This iron in my soul in vain — shall thoj not mourn ? 

CXXXII. 

And thou, who never yet of human wrongf 
Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis! 
Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long — 
Thou, who didst call the Furies from the abyss, 
And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss 
For that unnatural retribution — just, 
Had it but been from hands less near — in this 
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! 
Dost thou not hear my heart ? — Awake ! thou shalt, and must. 



It is not that I may not have incurr'd 

For my ancestral faults or mine the wound ; 

I bleed withal, and had it been conferr'd 

With a just weapon, it had tlow'd unbound; 

But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ; 

To thee I do devote it — thou shalt take 

Thc_ vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, 

Which if / have not taken for the sake 

But let that pass— I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. 



And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now 
I shrink from what is suffer'd : let him speak 
Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, 
Or seen my jnind's convulsion leave it weak ; 
But in this page a record will I seek. 
Not in the air shall these my words disperse, 
Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreak 
The deep prophetic fulness of this verse. 
And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse ! 

cxxxv. 

That cnrso shall be Forgiveness. — Have I not — 
Hear me, my mother Earth ! behold it. Heaven ! — 
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot ? 
Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven ? 
Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, 
Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away? 
And onl}' not to desperation driven. 
Because not altogether of such clay 
As rots into the souls of those whom! survey. 



656 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. [canto iv. 

CXXXVI. 

From nii;ility wronjrs to petty pei-fidy 
Have I not seen what human thin<rs conld do ? 
From the loud roar of foaminj^' cahininy 
To the small Avhisper of the as paltry lew, 
And subtler venom of tlie reptile crew, 
The Janus g-lancc of whose .significant eye, 
Learninj^ to lie with silence, would seetti true, 
And without utterance, save the shrug' or siirh. 
Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. 

CXXXVII. 

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain : 
My mind may lose its force, my tilood its fire. 
And my frame perish even in conqucrinu' pain; 
But there is that within me wliich shall tire 
Torture and Time, and birathe when I expire; 
Something- uucartlily, which they deem not of, 
Like the rememl)cr'd tone of a mute lyre, 
Shall on tlieir soften'd spirits sink, and move 
In hearts all rocky, now the late remorse of love. 

CXXXVIII. 

The seal is set. — Now welcome, thou dread pow^r ! 
Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 
Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour 
With a deep awe, 3'et all distinct from fear: 
Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear 
That Ave become a part of what has been. 
And grow unto the sjwt, all-seeing but unseen. 

CXXXIX. 

And the buzz of eager nations ran. 
In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, 
As man was slaugliter'd by his fellow-man. 
And wherefore slaugliter'd ? wherefore, but because 
Such was the l)loody Circus' genial laws. 
And the imperial pleasure. Wherefore not ? 
What matters where we fall to fill the maws 
Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot ? 
Both arc but theatres where the chief actors rot. 

CXL. 

I sec before me the Gladiator lie : 
He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony. 
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — 
And through hrs side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. 
Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who 



CAXTO IV.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. G57 

CXLI. 

He heard it, but he heeded not — his C3'cs 
"Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 
He rcek'd not of the life he lost nor prize, " 
But where liis rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his younj;' barbarians all at play. 
There was Uieir Daeian mother — he, their "sire, 
Butchcr'd to make a Eonian holiilay — 
All this rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire, 
And unavenged ? — Arise ! j'e Goths, and glut your ire ! 

CXLII. 

But here, where murder breathed her bloody steam ; 
And here, where buzzin>j: nations clioked the waj's, 
And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain-streain 
Dashing or winding as its torrent stravs; 
Here where the Roman million's blame or praise 
Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, 
My voice sounds much — and fall the stars' faint rays 
On the arena void — seats ernsh'd — walls bow'd — 
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. 



A ruin — yet what min ! from its mass 
Walls, palaces, half-cities, liave been rear'd; 
Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass. 
And marvel where the spoil coidd have appcar'd. 
Hath it indecil been phmdcr'd, or but clear'd ? 
Alas ! developed, opens the <lecay. 
When the colossal fabric's form is near'd; 
It will not bear tlic brightness of the day. 
Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away. 



But when the rising moon begins to climb 
Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; 
When the stars twinkle tlirough the loops of time, 
And the low uight-brecze waves along the air 
The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, 
Like laurels on the bald first Ca'sar's head ; 
When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 
Then in this magic circle raise the dead : 
Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. 



"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 
When falls the Coliseum, Rome sliall fall; 
And when Rome tails — the World." From our own land 
Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall 
In Saxon times, which we are wont to call 
Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still 
On their foundations, and unalter'd all; 
Rome and her Ruin past Reilemption's skill. 
The World — the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will. 
42 



t}58 CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 

CXLVI. 

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — 
Shrine of all saints, and temple of all g'ods. 
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ; 
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods 
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods 
His way through tiiorns to ashes — glorious dome ! 
Shalt thou not last ? — Time's scythe and tyrants' rods 
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home 
Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome ! 

cxLvri. 
Relic of nolilcr days, and noblest arts ! 
Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
A holiness appealing to all hearts — 
To art a model ; and to him who treads 
Rome for the .sake of ages, Glory sheds 
ller light through thy sole aperture ; to those 
Who worship, here arc altars for their beads; 
And they who feel for genius may repose 
Tiieir eyes on houor'd forms, whose busts around them closec 

CXLVIII. 

There is a dungeon, in wliose dim drear light 
What do I gaze on ? Nothing: Look again! '' 
Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight — 
Two insulated phantoms of the brain: 
It is not so; I see them full and plain — 
An old man, and a female young and fair, 
Fresh as a nursing motlier, in whose vein 
The blood is nectar; — l)ut what doth she there, 
With her unmautled ueek, and bosom white and bare ? 

CXLIX. 

Full swells the deep pin-e fountain of young life, 
Where o« the heart and from the heart we took 
Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, 
Iilest into mother, in the innocent look, 
Or even the piping cry of lips tliat brook 
No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives 
IVIan knows not, when from out its cradled nook 
She sees her little bud put forth its leaves— 
What may the fruit be yet ? — I know not — Cain was Eve'So 



But hei'e youth offers to old age the food, 
The milk of his own gift : — it is her sire 
To whom she renders l)ack the debt of ])lood 
Born with her birth. No ; he shall not expire 
While in those warm and lovely veins the fire 
Of health and holy feeling can pi-ovide 
Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher 
Than Egypt's river : — from that gentle side 
Drink, drink and live, old man ! heaven's realm holds no 
such tide. 



CANTO IV.] CIIILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 659 

CLI. 

The starry fable of the milky way 
Has not lliy stoiy's purity; it is 
A constellation of a sweater ray, 
And sacred Nature triumphs more in this 
Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss 
Where sparkle distant worlds : — Oh, holiest nm-sei 
No drop of that clear stream its wa}' shall miss 
To thy sire's heart, rcplenishinj;- its source 
With lile, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. 

CLII. 

Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rcar'd on high. 
Imperial mimic of ohl Ej;ypt's piles, 
Colossal copyist of deformity. 
Whose travcll'il phantasy from the far Nile's 
Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils 
To build for <;iants, and for his vain earth. 
His shrunken ashes, raise this dome : How smiles 
The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth. 
To view the huge design which sprung from such a birth! 

CLIII. 

But lo ! the dome — the vast and wondrous dome, 
To wliich Diana's marvel was a cell — 
Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb! 
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle- 
Its columns strew the wililerness, and dwell 
The hj'srna and the jackal in their shade ; 
I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 
Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd 
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem jJray'd; 



But thou, of temples old, or altars new, 
Standest alone — witli nothing like to thee — 
"Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 
Since Zion's desolation, when that He 
Forsook His former city, what could be, 
Of earthly structures, in His honor piled, 
Of a sublimer aspect ? Majesty, 
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 



Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 
And why ? it is not lesscu'd ; but thy mind. 
Expanded by tlie genius of the spot. 
Has grown colossal, and can only find 
A fit abode wherein ajipear enshrined 
Thy hopes of inunortality ; aud thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 
See thy (iod face to face, as thou dost now 
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasteil by His inow. 



6G0 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto rv. 

CLVI. 

Thou movcst— hut incveasin<]r with the advance, 
lAke climl)hiiX some f^reat Alp, which still cloth rise, 
Deceived by its jiijiantic clejiance; 
Vastncss which <rrows — hut fiTows to harmonize — 
All musical iu its immensities ; 

Rich marbles — richer paiutintr — shrines where flame 
The lamps of f;ol(l — and hauirhty dome whicli vies 
In air with Earth's chief structures, thouijh their frame 
Sits on the lirm-set ground — and this the clouds must claim, 

CLVII. 

Thou seest not all ; hut piecemeal thou must break, 
To separate contemplation, the great whole; 
And as the ocean many ]>ays will make. 
That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul 
To more immediate objects, and control 
Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 
Its eloquent proportions, and unroll 
In mighty graduations, part by part. 
The glorj- which at once upon thee did not dart, 

CLVIII. 

Not hy its fault — but thine : Our outward sense ^- 
Is but of gradual grasp — and as it is 
That what we have of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression; even so this 
Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice 
Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great 
Defies at first our Nature's littleness. 
Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate 
Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. 

CLIX. 

Then pause, and he enlighten'd ; there is more 
In such a survey than the sating gaze 
Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
The worship of the place, or the mei-e praise 
Of ai-t and its great masters, who could raise 
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan ; 
The fountain of sublimity displa3's 
Its depth, and tluMH'c Ujay draw the mind of man 
Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. 



Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
Laocoon's torture dignilying pain — 
A father's love and mortal's agony 
With an immortal's iiationcc blending: — Vain 
The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain 
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, 
The old nuin's clench ; the long envenoni'd chain 
Eivets the living links, — the enormous asp 
Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 



CANTO IV.] CHILDE HAE OLD'S riLGRIMAGE. G61 

CLxr. 
Or view the Lonl of tlic uncrrinu' bow, 
The God of life, and poesy, and li^ht — 
The Sun in human lind)s an-ay'd, and brow 
All radiant from his triumph in the li^ht ; 
The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright 
With an innnortal's vcnjjeance; in his eye 
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might 
And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, 
Developing in that one glance the Deity. 

CLXII. 

But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, 
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
Long'd for a deathless lover from above. 
And maddcn'd in that vision — are exprest 
All that ideal beauty ever blcss'd 
The mind with in its most unearthly mood. 
When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
A ray of immortality — and stood. 
Starlike, around, until they gather'd to a god! 

CLXIII. 

And if it be Prometheus stole from heaven 
The fire which we endure, it was repaid 
By him to whom the enei-gy was given 
Which this poetic marble hath array'd 
With an eternal glory — which, if made 
By human hands, is not of human thought; 
And Time himself hath hallow'd it, not laid 
One ringlet in the dust — nor hath it caught 
A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 'twaa 
wi'ought. 

CLxrv. 

But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song. 
The being who upheld it through the past ? 
Mcthinks he conieth late and tarries long. 
lie is no more — these breathings arc his last; 
His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, 
And he himself as nothing : — if he was 
Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd 
With forms which live and suffer — let that pass — 
His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, 

CLXV. 

Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all 
That we inherit in its mortal shroud, 
And spreads the dim and universal pall 
Through which all things grow phantoms ; and the clc'jd 
Between us sinks and all which ever glow'd, 
Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays 
A melancholy halo scarce allow'd 
To hover on the verge of darkness ; rays 
Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze. 



6o2 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 

CLXVI. 

And send ns piying into the abyss, 
To ^rather what we shall be when the frame 
Shall be resolved to something less than this 
Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame, 
And wipe the dust from off the idle name 
We never more shall hear, — hut never more, 
Oh, happier thought! can we be made the same: 
It is enough in sooth that once we bore 
These fardels of the hcai-t — the heart whose sweat was gore. 

CLXVII. 

Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, 
A long low distant murmur of dread sound, 
Such as ai'ises when a nation bleeds 
With some dee]i and innnedicalile wound; 
Through storm and darknoss yawns the rending ground. 
The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 
Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd. 
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. 



Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? ^^ 
Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? '' 

Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low 
Some less majestic, less beloved head ? 
In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled. 
The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy. 
Death hush'd that pang for ever : with thee fled 
The present happiness and promised joy 
Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. 



Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be, 
O thou that wert so happy, so adored ! 
Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee. 
And Freedom's heart, grown heav}', cease to hoard, 
Her many griefs for One ; for she had pour'd 
Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head 
Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord, 
And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed ! 
^he husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! 



Of sackcloth was thy wedding-garment made ; 
Tiiy liridal's iVuit is ashes : in the dust 
The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid. 
The love of millions ! How we did entrust 
Futurity to her! and, though it mnst 
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd 
Our children should ol)ey her child, and bless'd 
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd 
liike star to shejiherds' eyes ; — 'twas but a meteor beam'd. 



CANTO IV.] CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. (553 

CLXXI. 

Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well : 
Tlie fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue 
Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, 
Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung- 
Its knell in princely cai-s, till the o'erstun^r 
Nations have arm'd in madness, the strangre fate 
Which tumbles mi<ihtiest sovcreig-ns, and hath flung 
Against their blind omnipotence a weight 
Within the opposing scale, which crushes soon or late, — 

CLXXII. 

These might have been her destiny ; but no, 
Our hearts deny it : and so youngj so fair, 
Good without etfoi-t, great without a foe ; 
But now a bride and mother — and now there! 
How many ties did that stern moment tear ! 
From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast 
Is link'd the electric chain of that despair, 
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest 
The laud which loved thee, so that none could love thee best. 



Lo, Nemi ! navell'd in the woody hills 
So far, that the uprooting wind which tears 
The oak from his foundation, and which spUls 
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears 
Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares 
The oval miiTor of thy glassy lake; 
And, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears 
A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, 
All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. 



And near Albano's scarce divided waves 
Shine from a sister valley ; — and afar 
The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves 
The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war, 
"Arms and the Man," whose reasccncling star 
Rose o'er an empire : — but beneath thy right 
Tully rejiosed from Rome : — and where yon bar 
Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight. 
The Sabine farm was till'd, the weary bard's delight- 



But I forgot, — IVIy Pilgrim's shrine is won. 
And he and I must part, — so let it be — 
His task anil mine alike are nearly done; 
Yet once more let us look upon the sea; 
The midland ocean breaks on him and me. 
And from the Alban Mount we now behold 
Our friend of youth, that Ocean, which when we 
Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold 
Those waves, we"follow'd on till the dark Euxine roll'd 



GG4 CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv. 

CLXXVI. 

ITpon the blue Svmplcfradcs : lon<r years — 
Loni;', thouifh not. very many, since liave done 
Their work on both; some siitt'erin^- :uul some teai's 
Have left us nearly where we liad heyun: 
Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run, 
We have liad our reward — ajid it is liere; 
That wc can yet (eel <;l;iddeii'il by the sun. 
And reap I'roin earth, sea, joy almost as ilear 
As ir there were no man to trouble wiiat is clear. 

CLXXVII. 

Oh ! that the Desert were my dwellinj^-placc, 
With one lair Spii-it I'or my minister, 
That I niiuht all I'or^et the human race, 
And hatiuij no one, love hut only her! 
Ye I'.leiuents ! — in whose eunohliny stir 
I led niyseir exalted — can ye not 
Accord me sncii a bein^'' ? Do I err 
In deeming such inhabit )nany a sjM^t ? 
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. 

CLxxvni. 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, ^- 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
Tiiere is society where none intrudes, 
l?v the deeji Se;), and nuisic in its roar: 
1 love not jSIan the less, lint Nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
FiT)m all I may be, or ha\-e been belbre, 
To min^ile with the TJ^iiverse, and led 
What I can ne'er express, yet ciinnot all conceal. 



Eoll on, thou deep anil dark blue Ocean — roll! 
Ten thousand tleets sweep over thee in vain; 
!Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops witiv tlie shore; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's rava>;e, save his own, 
When, lor a moment, like a drop ol' rain, 
He sinks into thy depllis with hubblinu' yroan, 
Without a grave, uukndl\l, uncottin'tl, ami uukuo'svn. 

CLXXX. 

His steps iirc upon thy paths — thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him — thou dost arise 
And shake him Croiu thee; the vile strength he wields 
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
Spurning him I'rom thy bosom to the skies, 
And send'st him, shivering in thy jilayful spray 
And howling, to his (ioils, where haply lies 
Ilis petty hope in sonic near port or bay, 
Aud dashest him again to earth ; — there let him lay. 



CANTO IV.] CHILDE IIAROLD'S VILGUIM AGE. Of)') 

ci.xxxr. 

Till' :n-iii;iiii('n(s which Ihimdcrsli'ikc tlic wiills 
or rock-biiih cilii-'s, l)iil(liu;i' iiMlions (|ii;iku, 
And nioiijifchs trcnihlc in their c-iiiitiils, 
The Oiik ieviutliiiiis, whose* hn;;(! lihs ntake 
Their cliiy crciilor tlie \;iiri till(! luUc 
or lord of thee, :iiid Milliter of w.'ir; 
Tiiesi! live thy to\'s, ;uid, iis Ihi- snowy IhiUc, 
Tiiey melt into tliy yeast of waves, which ni:ir 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Tnilulgiir. 

CLXxxir. 

Thy slioi-cs arc emi)ii'OS, elianffcd in all sarc Ihee — 
Assyria, (Greece, Jlonie, (.'artha^;'e, what are they? 
Tiiy waters wasted them while they were free, 
And many a tyrant sinec ; their shores ol)ey 
The strani^er, slave, or savano ; their decay 
Has (Irit'il u|i realms to deserts: — not so tiiou, 
ITnchaiiLlcaliK: save to thy wild wavcvs' |ilay — 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine aznre ln'ow— 
Such lis creatiou's dawn hehekl, thou rollest now. 

CLXXXIII. 

Thou ploi'ions mirror, wIkm-c the Alinif^hty's form 
CJlasscs itself in tempests; in all time. 
Calm or e()n\ulsed — in hree/e, or i^alc, or storm, 
leinj,^ tlii^ pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-lieavinj;'; — boundless, endless, and sul)limc — 
The iniauc of ICternity — the Ihi'one 
Of the Invisililc; even i'rom out thy slime 
The monsters of the tleep are matle; each z<mc 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, drcail, fathundess, alone. 

CLXXXIV. 

And F have loved thcc. Ocean! and my joy 
(Jf youthful sports was on thy breast to lie 
Borne, like thy bubl)les, onward : from a boy 
I wantdu'd witli thy breakers — they to me 
Were a deli;^lit ; and if tlu^ fresheniuff sea 
!Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, 
For I was as it were a child ol' Ihcc, 
And ti'tisted to thy l)illows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy nuinc — as I do here. 



My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme 
Has died into an echo; it is (it 
The spell should break of this protracted dream. 
IMie torch shall be (.!\l in;^iiishM which hath lit 
]Vlv midMi;;ht lamp — and wlwit is writ is writ — 
Would it were W(jrtliier! but I am not now 
That which I have been — and my visions Hit 
Less jialpal)ly before me — and the glow 
Which ui my spirit dwell is lliittcriug, faint, and low. 



6fiG CniLDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE, [canto iv 

CLXXXVI. 

Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — 
A sound which makes us linjier; — yet — farewell! 
Ye! wlio have traced the Pilijrim to the scene 
Wliicli is )jis last, if in your memories dwell 
A thou<>ht which once was his, if on ye swell 
A single recollection, not in vain 
lie woi'c his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; 
Farewell I with him alone may rest tlie pain, 
If such there were — with you, the moral of his strain. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 



TIIE LAKE POETS, (FROM DEDICATION.) 

BOR RoiJTUEY ! You 'ro a port — Poct-lanrcatc, 

And representative of all the race, 
Altliou<r|i 'tis true that you 're turn'd out a Tory at 

Last, — yours has lately been a common case, — • 
And now," my Epic Renegade! what arc ye at? 

With all the Lakers, in and out of place ? 
A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye 
Like " four-and-twcnty Blackbirds in a pye; 

" Which pye being opcn'd, thc}^ began to sing " 
TThis oltl song and new simile holds good), 

"A dainty dish to set before the King," 

Or Regent, who admires such kind of food; — 

And Coleridge, too, has lately taken wing, 
But like a hawk encuniber'd with his hood, — 

Explaining metaphysics to the nation — 

I wish he would explain his Explanation. 

You, Bob ! arc i-ather insolent, you know, 

At being disappointed in your wish 
To supersede all warl)lcrs here liclow. 

And be the only Blackbird in the dish; 
And then you overstrain yoursell', or so. 

And tumble downward like the Hying fish 
Gasping on deck, because you soar too high. Bob, 
And fall, for lack of moisture, quite a-dry, Bob ! 

And Wordsworth, in a rather long " Excursion " 
(I think the quarto holds five hundred pages), 

Has given a sample from the vasty version 
Of his new system to jicrplex the sages ; 

'Tis poetry — at least by liis assertion. 
And may appear so when the dog-star rages 5 

And he who understands it would be able 

To add a story to the Tower of Babel. 

667 



668 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAY. 

You, Gcntlonicn ! by dint of lono- seclusion 
From l>L'ttor (.■oiniiiuiv, have kept your own 

At Keswick, and, throiifih still-coiitiniieil fusion 
Of one another's minds, at last have grown 

To deem, as a most loj;it'al conclusion, 
That Poesy has wreaths for you alone : 

There is a narrowness in such a notion, [ocean. 

Which makes mo wish you'd change your lakes for 



PORTRAIT OF JULIA. 

Her ej'c (I'm very fond of handsome eyes) 
Was large am' ilai'k, sui>iiressing half its fire 

Until she spoke, then throngli its soft disguise 
Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire, 

And love than cither; and there wouUl arise 
A somelhing in them which was not desire, 

But would iiavc been, perhajis, lint for the soul 

Which struggled through and chasten'd down the whole. 

Ilcr glossy hair was clustcr'd o'er a brow 

Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth ; 

Her eyebrows' shajic was like the aerial bow, ^ 
Her check all purple, with the beam of youth, 

Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow. 
As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth, 

Possess'd an air and grace by no means commoa : 

Ilcr stature tall — 1 hate a dumpy woman. 



JUAN'S LOVE. 

Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks, 
Thinking unutteralile "things ; he" threw 

Himself at length within the leafy nooks 

Where t!ie wild branch of the cork forest grew; 

There poets linil materials for their books. 
And every no\v and then we read them throu^jh, 

So that their jilan and prosody are eligible, 

Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible. 

He (Juan, and not Wordsworth) so pursued 
His self-communion with his own high soul. 

Until his migiity heart, in its great mooil. 
Had mitigated i)art, though" not the whole 

Of its disease; he did the best he coiild 
With things not very subject to control. 

And tm-n'd, witliout perceiving his condition. 

Like Coleridge, into a metaphysician. 

He thought about himself, and the whole earth, 
Of man the wonderful, ami of the stars, 

And how the deuce they ever eouhl have birth ; 
And then he thought' of earthquakes, and of wai'S, 




Juan's Love. — Page 668. 



EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAN: QQC) 

How many miles the moon mifiht luive in girth, 

Of air-h;illoons, uinl of the many bars 
To perfect knowledge of the hoiuulless skies; — 
And then he thought of Donna Julia's cj-es. 

In thon;i'Iits like these true wisdom may discern 

Li)ii.uiiii;s sid)lime, and asjiirations hiji'h, 
Whieli some are l)()rn with, hut the most part learn 

To plau'iie theniselvos withal, tiiey know not why: 
'Twas stranji'c that one so youni^' should thus concern 

His brain al)oi'_t the action of I he slvy; 
If )/ou tiiink 'twas pliilosopby that this did, 
I cau't help thinkinjj; pul)erty assisted. 

He pored u)ion the leaves, and on the llowcrs. 
And hoard a voi<'e in all the winds; and then 

He thou^iht of wood-nymphs and immortal liowcrs. 
And iiow tlie p:oddcsses came down to men: 

He mi^s'd tlie ))a11iwa\', he forgot the iiours. 
And wlien lie hiok'c"! upon iiis watch again. 

He found how much old Time had been a winner — 

He also found that he liad lost his dinner. 

Sometimes he turn'd to gaze upon his book, 

Uosean, or (iareilasso; — by the winil 
Even as the page is rustled while we look, 

bo by the poesy of ids own mind 
Over the mystic leaf his sold was shook. 

As if 'twere one whereon magicians bind 
Their spells, and give them to the passing gale. 
According to some good old woman's tale. 



SWEET THINGS. 

'Tis sweet to hear 
At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep 

The song and oar of Adria's gondolier. 

By distance mellow'tl, o'er the waters sweep; 

'Tis sweet to see the evening star a])pear; 
'Tis sweet to listen as the night-winds creep 

From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high 

The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. 

'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark 
Baj' deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home ; 

'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come; 

'Tis sweet to be awakcn'd by the lark. 

Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum 

Of bees, the" voice of girls, the song of birds, 

The lisp of children, and their earliest words. 

Sweet is the vintage, when the showering grapes 

In bacchanal profusion reel to earth. 
Purple and gushing: sweet are our escapes 

Prom civic revelry to rural mirth ; 



670 EXTRACTS FROM BOX JUAN". 

Sweet to the miser are his rrljttering heaps, 

Sweet to the lather is his first-born's birth, 
Sweet is revenge — especially to women, 
Pillage to soldiers, prize-money to seamen. 

Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet 
The unexpected death of some old lady, 

Or gentleman of seventy years complete, 

\Vlio 've made " us youth " wait too — too long already 

For an estate, or cash, or country seat. 
Still breaking, but with stamina so steady, 

That all the Israelites are lit to mob its 

Next owner for their double-damn'd post-obits. 

'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels, 
By blood or ink ; 'tis sweet to put an end 

To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels 
Particidarly with a tiresome friend : 

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels; 
Dear is the helpless creature we defend 

Against the world ; and dear the schoolboy spot 

\V e ne'er forget, though there we are forgot. 



SQUANDERED YOUTH. ^ 

But now at thirty years my hair is gray — 

(I wonder what it will be like at forty ? 
I thought of a peruke the other day — ) 

My heart is not much greener; and, in short, I 
Have squanilcr'il my whole summer while 'twas May, 

And feel no more the spirit to retort; I 
Have spent my life, both interest and principal, 
And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible. 

No more — no more — oh ! never more on me 
The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, 

"Which out of all the lovelr things we see 
Extracts emotions beaul'ful and now, 

Hived in our bosoms like tUc bag o' the bee, 

Think'st thou the honey with tliose objects gi'ew ? 

Alas ! 'twas not in them, i)nt in thy power, 

To double even the sweetness of a flower. 

No more — no more — oh ! never more, my heart. 
Canst thou be my sole world, my univei'se ! 

Once all in all, but now a thing apart, 
Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse : 

The illusion 's gone for ever, and tiiou ait 
Insensible, I trust, Imt none the worse. 

And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, 

Though Heaven knows how it ever found a lodgment. 

My days of love are over; me no more* 
The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow, 

* " Me nee femina, nee pucr 

Jam, nee spes aiiimi credula mutui, 

Nee certare juvat moro ; 

Koc vincire novis tempora floribus."— Hor. 



EXTRACTS FROM DO.V JUAN. G71 

Can make the fool of which they made before, — 

In short, I must not lead the life I did do; 
The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er, 

The copious use of claret is fori)id too, 
So for a yooil old i;'cntlemanly vice, 
I think 1 must take up with avarice. 



STORM AND SIIIPWEECK. 

The ship, call'd the most holy "Trinidada," 

Was stcerinjj duly for the port Leghorn; 
For there the Spanish family Moncada 

Were settled long ere Juan's sire was born: 
They were relations, and for them he had a 

Letter of introduction, which the morn 
Of his departure had been sent him by 
His Spanish friends for those in Italy. 

His suite consisted of three servants and 

A tutor, the licentiate Pedrillo, 
Who several languages did understand. 

But now lay sick and speechless on his pillow, 
And, rocking in his hammock, long'd for land, 

His headaclie being increased by every billow; 
And the waves oozing through the port-hole made 
His berth a little damp, and him afraid. 

'Twas not without some reason, for the wind 

Increased at night, until it blew a gale ; 
And though 'twas not much to a naval mind. 

Some landsmen woulil have look'd a little pale, 
For sailors are, in fact, a ditierent kind; 

At sunset they began to take in sail. 
For the sky show'd it would come on to blow. 
And carr}' away, perhaps, a mast or so. 

At one o'clock the wind with sudden shift 

Threw the ship right into the trough of the sea. 

Which struck her ait, and made an awkward rift, 
Started the stern-post, also shatter'd the 

Whole of her stern-frame, and, ere she could lift 
Herself from out her present jeopardy. 

The rudder tore away : 'twas time to sound 

The pumps, and there were four feet water found. 

One gang of people instantly was put 

Upon the jiumps, and the remainder set 
To get up part of the cargo, and what not ; 

But they could not come at the leak as yet ; 
At last they did get at it really, but 

Still their salvation was an even bet : 
The water rush'd through in a way quite puzzling, 
While they thrust sheets, shirts, jackets, bales of muslin. 

Into the opening; but all such ingredients 
Would have been vain, and they must have gone down, 



(572 EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAX. 

Despite of all their efforts and expedients, 

But for the pumps; I'm ^lad to make them known 

To all the Ijrother tars who may have need hence, 
For fifty tons of water were u|ttlivown 

By them ])er hour, and they had all heen undone, 

But for the maker, Mr. Mann, of London. 

As day advanced the weather seem'd to abate, 
And then the leak they roclcon'd to reduce. 

And keep the ship afloat, thoujih three feet yet 
Kept two hand and one chain pump still in use. 

The wind lilew fresh a^jfain : as it j^rcw late 

A squall came on, and while some truns broke loose, 

A ji'ust — which all descriptive power transcends — 

Laid with one blast the ship on her beam ends. 

There she lay, motionless, and seem'd upset ; 

The water left the hold and wash'd the decks, 
And made a scene men do not soon forget; 

P\)r they romemlier battles, fires, and wi'ccks. 
Or any other thinLr that ))ring-s rcjjret, 

(Jr breaks their hopes, or hearts, or heads, or necks: 
Thus drowninu's arc nutch talk'd of by the divers, 
And swimmers, who may chance to be sui'vivors.^^ 

Immediately the masts were cut away, 

Both main and mizzen ; first the mizzen went. 

The mainmast follow'il : liut the ship still lay 
Like a mere loo-, and balfied our intent. 

Foremast and l:)owsprit were cut down, and they 
Eased her at last (although we never meant " 

To part with all till every hope was blighted). 

And then with violence the old ship righted. 

It may be easily supposed, while this 

Was going- on, some people werc unquiet, 

That passengers would find it much amiss 
To lose their lives, as well as spoil their diet; 

That even the able seaman, deeming his 
Days nearly o'er, might be disposed to riot, 

As upon such occasions tars will a.sk 

For grog, and sometimes drink rum from the cask. 

There 's nought, no doubt, so much the spirit calms 

As rum and true religion : thus it was 
Some plunder'd, some drank spirits, some sung psalms, 

The high wind made the treble, and as bass 
The hoarse harsh waves kept time ; fright cured the qualms 

Of all the luckless landsmen's sea-sick maws : 
Strange sounds of wailing, blasphemy, devotion, 
Clamor'd in chorus to the roaring ocean. 

Perhaps more mischief had been done, but for 
Our Juan, who, with sense bevond his years, 

Got to the spirit-room, and stoocl before 
It with a pair of pistols ; and their fears. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. Gj; 

As if Death were more dreadful by his door 

Of tire than water, spite of oaths and tears, 
Kept still aloof the crew, who, ere they sunk, 
Thought it would be becoming to die drunk. 

" Give us more grog," they cried, " for it will he 
All one an hour hence." Juan answer'd, " No! 

'Tis true that death awaits both you and me. 
But let us die like men, not sink below 

Like brutes :" — and thus his dangerous post kept he, 
And none liked to anticipate the blow; 

And even Pedrillo, his most reverend tutor. 

Was for some rum a disappointed suitor. 

The good old gentleman was quite aghast. 

And made a loud and ]iious lamentation, 
Repented all his sins, and made a last 

Irrevocalile vow of reformation ; 
Nothing should tempt him more (this peril past) 

To quit his academic occupation. 
In cloisters of the classic Salamanca, 
To follow Juan's wake, like Sancho Panca. 

But now there came a flash of hope once more; 

Day broke, and the wind luH'd; the masts were gone, 
The leak increased; shoals rotmd her. but no shore; 

The vessel swam, yet still she held her own. 
They tried the pumps again, and though before 

Their desperate efforts seem'd all useless grown, 
A glimpse of sunshine set some hands to bale^ 
The stronger pump'd, the weaker thrumm'd a sail. 

Under the vessel's keel the sail was past, 

And for the moment it had some etfect; 
But with a leak, and not a stick of mast. 

Nor rag of canvas, what could they expect? 
But still 'tis best to struggle to the hist, 

'Tis never too late to be wholly wreck'd : 
And though 'tis true that man can only die once, 
'Tis not so pleasant in the Gulf of Lyiins. 

There winds and waves had hurl'd them, and from thence, 
Without their will, thev carried them away; 

For I hey were forced with steering to dispense, 
And never had as yet a quiet day 

On which they might repose, or even commence 
A jurymast or rudder, or could say 

The ship would swim an hour, which, bv good luck. 

Still swam — though not exactly like a duck. 

The wind, in fact, perhaps, was rather less, 
But the ship labor'd so, they scarce could hope 

To weather out much longer; the distress 
Was also great with which they had to cope 

For want of water, and their solid mess 
_Was scant enough : in vain the telescope 

Was used— nor sail nor shore ai)pcar'd in sight, 

Nought but the heavy sea, and coming night. 



674 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

Again the weather threaten'd, — ajrain blew 

A gale, and in the fove and after hold 
Water appear'd; yet, thoui;h tlie people knew 

All this, the most were ]Kitient, and sonic bold, 
Until the chains and leathers were worn throuji'h 

Of all our pumps : — a wreck complete she roU'd, 
At mercy of the waves, whose mercies are 
Like human beings during civil war. 

Then came the carpenter, at last, witli tears 
In his rough eyes, and told the captain he 

Could do no more : he was a man in years, 

And long liad voyaged through many a stormy sea, 

And if lie ^\^c\^^ at length, tliey were not fears 
Tliat made his eyelids as a woman's be. 

But he, poor fellow, had a wife and children, — 

Two things for dying people quite bewildering. 

The ship was evidently settling now 
Fast by the head ; and, all distinction gone, 

Some went to prayers again, and made a vow 
Of candles to tlieir saints — but tliere were none 

To pay tlicm with ; and some look'd o'er the bow: 
Some lioisted out the boats ; and there was one 

That begg'd Pcdrillo for an absolution, ^ 

Who told him to be damn'd — in his confusion. ^-- 

Some lash'd them in their hammocks; some put on 
Their best clotlies, as if going to a fair; 

Some cursed tlie day on which tlicy saw the sun. 

And gnash'd their teetli, and, howling, tore their hair 

And otliers went on as they had begun. 
Getting tlie boats out, being well aware 

That a tiglit boat will live in a rough sea, 

Unless with breakers close beneath her lee. 

The worst of all was, that in their condition, 
Having been several days in great distress, 

'Twas difficult to get out such provision 
As now might render their long sutfering less : 

Men, even when dying, dislike inanition; 

Their stocl': was damaged by tlie weather's stress : 

Two casks of l)iscuit, and a keg of butter. 

Were all that could be thrown into the cutter. 

But in the long-boat they contrived to stow 

Some pounds of bread, though injured by the wet ; 

Water, a twenty-gallon cask or so ; 

Six llasks of wine; and they contrived to get 

A portion of tlieir beef up from below. 
And with a piece of pork, moreover, met. 

But scarce enough to serve them for a luncheon — 

Then there was rum, eiglit gallons in a puncheon. 

The other boats, the j'awl and pinnace, had 
Been stove in the beginning of the gale; 

And the long-boat's condition was but bad, 
As there were but two blankets for a sail. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 675 

And one oar foi- a mast, which a younnf lad 

Threw iu by good hick, over the ship's rail ; 
And two boats could not hold, far less be stored, 
To save one half the people then on board, 

'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down 

Over the waste of waters ; like a veil, 
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown 

(Jf one whose hate is mask'd but to assail. 
Thus to their hopeless eves the night was shown, 

And grimly darkled o'er the faces pale, 
And the dim desolate deep : twelve days had Fear 
Been their familiar, and now Death was here. 

Some trial had been making at a raft, 

With little hope in such a rolling sea, 
A sort of thing at whicli one would have laugh'd, 

If any laughter at such times could be, 
Unless with people who too much have quaff' d, 

And have a kind of wild and horrid glee, 
Half epilcptical, and half hysterical : — 
Their preservation would have been a miracle. 

At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, 
And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, 

That still could keep afloat the struggling tars. 
For yet they strove, although of no great use : 

There was no light in heaven but a few stars. 
The boats put off o'ercrowded with their crews ; 

She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, 

And, going down head foremost — sunk, in short. 

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell — 

Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, — 

Then some Icap'd overboard with dreadful yeU, 
As eager to anticipate their grave ; 

And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell. 

And down she suck'd witli her the whirling wave, 

Like o!ie who grapples with his enemy, 

And strives to strangle him before he die. 

And first one universal shriek there rush'd, 

Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash 
Of echoing thunder ; and then all was hush'd. 

Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash 
Of billows ; but at intervals there gush'd, 

Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
A solitary shriek, tlie bubbling cry 
Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 

The boats, as stated, had got off before. 

And in them crowded several of the crew; 
And yet their present hope was hardly more 

Than what it had been, for so strong it blew, 
There was sliglit chance of reaching any shore; 

And then they were too many, though so few — 
Nine in the cutter, thirty in the boat. 
Were counted in them wh«u tliey got afloat. 



676 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAX. 

All the rest perish'd ; near two hundred souls 
Had left their Ijodies ; and -what's worse, alas ! 

When over Catholics the ocean rolls, 

They must wait several weeks before a mass 

Takes otf one peck of purfjratorial coals, 
Because, till people know what's come to pass, 

They won't lay out their money on the dead — 

It costs three francs I'or every mass that's said. 



AN EASTERN PICTUHE. 

And further on a troop of Grecian girls. 
The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, 

Were strung together like a row of pearls, 

Link'd hand in hand, and dancing; each, too, having 

Down her white neck long lloating auburn curls — 
(The least of which would set ten poets raving) ; 

Their leader sang — and bounded lo her song, 

With choral step and voice, the virgin throng. 

And here, assembled cross-lcgg'd roixnd their trays. 

Small social parties just begun to dine; 
Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze, ^.^r 

And llasks of Saniian and of Chian wine, '' 

And shcri)et cooling in the porous vase; 

Above them their desert grew on its vine; 
The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er 
Dropp'd in their laps, scarce pluck'd, their mellow store. 

A band of children, round a snow-white ram, 
There wrcatlie his venerable horns with Howers; 

While peaceful, as if still an unwean'd lamb. 
The iiatriarch of the Hock all gently cowers 

His soljcr head, majestically tame. 

Or eats from out the palm, or jilavful lowers 

His brow, as if in act to butt, and then 

Yielding to tlieir small hands, draws back again. 

Their c-lassical profiles, and glittering dresses, 
Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks. 

Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses. 
The gesture which enchants, the eye that speaks 

The innocence which happy childhood blesses, 
Made quite a pictiu'c of tliese little Greeks; 

So that tlic philosi)|)hical l)ebolder 

Sig'h'd for their sakes — that they should e'er grow older. 

Alar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales 

To a sedate gray circle of old smokers, 
Of secret treasures found in hidden vales. 

Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, 
Of charms to make good gokl and cure bad ails. 

Of rocks bewitch'd that open to the knockers. 
Of magic ladies who, by one sole act, 
Transform'd their lords to beasts (but that's a fact). 



EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAIV. 077 

THE POET'S SONG. 

THE ISLES OF GREECE. 
1. 

The isles of Greece, tlic isles of Greece! 

Wliere biiniinj^ .Sappho loved ami sung, 
Where grew the arts of war ami ])eaee, — 

Where Delos rose, ami Pluebus sprung! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
But all, except their sun, is set. 

2. 
The Scian and the Teian muse, 

The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 
Have found the fame your shores refuse ; 

Their place of birth alone is mute 
To sounils which echo further west 
Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." * 

3. 
The mountains look on Marathon — 

And Marathon looks on the sea; 
And musing there an hour alone, 

I dream'd that Greece might still be free; 
For, standing on the Persian's grave, 
I could not deem myself a slave. 

4. 
A king sate on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; 
And ships, by thousands, lay below. 

And men in nations; — all were his! 
He counted, them at break of day — 
And wheu the sun set, where were they ? f 

5. 
And where are thej^ ? and where art thou. 

My country ? On thy voiceless shore 
The heroic lay is tuneless now — 

The heroic bosom beats no more ! 
And must thy lyre, so long divine, 
Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

6. 
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 

Though liuk'd among a fetter'd race, 
To feel at least a patriot's shame. 

Even as 1 sing, sutfuse my face ; 
For what is left the poet here ? 
For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 

* The iir)(Tot i/aKni)Mv of the Greek poets were supposed to have been the C-;ifo 
Je Verd Islands or the Canaries. 

t " Deep were the groans of Xerxes, when he saw 
This havoc; for his seat, a lofty mound 
CoiumiiiKliH!,' tlie wiiio sea, o'crlook'd tlie hosts. 
With rnofii! cries lie rent his nival rohes, 
And thrnnfih liis Ircniiis eiuliattled on the shore 
Gave signa' of retreat: tlien started wild 
And fled dis-wderd."— iEscurLns. 



678 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

7. 
Must we but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled. 
Earth ! render liack from out thy breast 

A remuant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylffi ! 



What, silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall. 

And answer, " Let one living head, 
But one arise, — we come, we come ! " 
'Tis but the living- who are dumb. 

9. 

In vain — in vain ; strike other chords ; 

Fill high the cup witli Samian wine ! 
Leave battles to tlie Turkish hordes. 

And shed the lilood of Scio's vine ! 
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call — 
How answers each bold Bacchanal ! 

10. 
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet. 

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 
Of two such lessons, why forget 

Tlic nobler and the manlier one ? 
You have the letters Cadmus gave — 
Think ye he meaut them for a slave ? 

11. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

We will not think of themes like these' 
It made Anacreon's song divine : 

He served — but served Polycrates — 
A tyrant ; but our masters then 
Were still, at least, our countrymen. 

12. 

The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom's licst and bravest friend; 
That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

Oh Ithat the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind ! 
Such chains as his were sui-e to bind. 

13. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, 
Exists the remnant of a line 

Such as the Doric nujthcrs bore; 
And thei'c, perhaps, some seed is sown. 
The Ileracleidan blood might own. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 679 

14. 
Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 

They have a king who buys and sells* 
In native swords, and native i-anks, 

The only hope of courage dwells ; 
But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, 
Would break your shield, however broad. 

15. 
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

Our virgins' dance beneath the shade — 
I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But gazing on each glowing maid. 
My own the burning tear-drop laves. 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 

16. 

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep. 
Where nothing, save the waves ami I, 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
There, swan-like, let me sing and tlie : 

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 

Jjash down yon cup of Samian wine! 



TWILIGHT. 

Sweet hour of twilight ! — in the solitude 
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore 

Which bounils Ravenna's immemorial wood, 
Rooted where once the Adrian wave tlow'd o'er. 

To where the last Caesarean fortress stood, 
Evergreen forest ! which Boccaccio's lore 

And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, 

How have I loved the twilight hour and thee ! 

The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, 

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, 

Were the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, 
And vesper Ijells that rose the boughs along ; 

The spectre huntsman of Onesti's line, 

His hell-dogs, and their chase, and the fair throng 

Which learn'd from this example not to fly 

From a true lover — shadow'd ray mind's eye. 

O Hesperus ! thou bringest all good things — * 
Homo to the weary, to the hunjiry cheer, 

To the young bird tl'ie jiarent's brooding wings. 
The welcome stall to the o'crlabor'd steer; 

Whatc'er of peace about our hearthstone clings, 
Whate'er our household gods protect of dear, 

Are gather'd roiuid us i)y thy look of rest ; 

Thou bring'st the child, too," to the mother's breast. 

* See Fragment of Sappho. 



(580 EXmACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

Soft hour! whicl) wnkos Ihc wish and melts the heart 
or those wild sail tiie seas, on the first tlay 

Wlu'ii thcv IVmii Ihi-ir sweet iVienils aye torn apart; 
Oi- nils with lo\e llie ))il;i'riiii on liis wa}' 

As tli(! far liell of vesper makes liim start, 
SocMiiin;;' to weep (he dyin;;- day's deeny ; 

Is this a taiii'y which our reason scorns ? 

Ah! snrely nothin;;' dies hut something mourns!* 

When Nero perish'd hy the jnstest doom 
Which ever tlie destroyer yet destroy'd, 

Amidst the roar of lil>erat(Hl Home, 

Of nations fnn'd, and tlie woi'ld overjoy'd, 

Some hands uuseen sfrew'd Mowers upon his tomb,t 
I'eihaps the weakness oCa lieaiM not void 

Of fceiiu;:' for some kindness done, when power 

Had left the wretch an uucorrui)t<'d hour. 



DEATH IN YOUTH. 

The heart — wliieli may he l)roken : happy they! 

Thrice lortnnate! who of that fragile mould. 
The precious iiorcelaiu of iiunuiii clay, 

Hreak with the fu'st, fall : they can ne'er hehokl 
Tlie Ion;;' y(~iii- link'd with heavy day on day, ^^sr 

And all which nnist he home, ani\ never told; '' 

While liJ'e's stninjic principle will often lie 
Deepest in those who long' the most to die. 

"Whom the ^xids love di<' younji," was said of yorc,;^ 
And nuiuy deaths do they escape hy this : 

The di'ath of friends, and thai which" slays even more— 
The (U^dli of frii-ndship, love, youth, all that is, 

Except mere hreatli; and since the silent shore 
Awaits at last even those who lon^^est miss 

The old archer's shafts, jjerhajis the early j;'ravo 

Whieh men weep over may be meant to save. 



HAIDEE'S DllEAM, 

She (Ircam'd of lieinj; alone on the sea-shore, 
Chain'd to a rock ; she knew not how, hut stir 

She could not from the spot, and the loud roar 

(Jrew, and each wavt^ rose roughly, threatening,' her; 

And o'er her np]ier li|) they seetn'd to i)o)n', 
Until she sohh'd for breath, antl soon they were 

Foaming' o'er hei" lone head, so tierce and hi>;h — 

Eaeh broke to drown her, yet she eould uot die. 

• " Era Kin r orn etu- v<ili;c M illslo, 

A' navisr.nili, i- 'nli'iicrisco il cHoro; 
L.0 lit I'll' hull (Icllii a' <l()l('i aiuU'i ii dio; 

V. clic to iiihivo |»'ri'>;rii)' d' aiiioro 
I'liiiKi', sc Olio S(|iiill.i ill lontnno, 

t'lie pain '1 Kiunio piiinyiT clic si nuioro." 

I)A>1 Tie's J'llf(/<ltilfl/, I'.intcl vlli. 

Ttils last lino is tlio llrst of Gray's "KIck.v," tiikcii hy fiiiu without nelmowl- 
odttiuoiil. 
t Soo Suctoiiius thv this fact. t ^'''•' Hi'i-oilotim. 



EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAX. GHl 

Anon — sho wiis rpleiist'd, and tlion sho stniyM 
O'l'f till' sliiirp sliiiii;k's witli liiT Ivlot'diii^^' loot, 

And slnnilili'd jdinosi overy Hd'p slic iiiiide : 
And soiiu'lliin^- roU'd l)c'l'oro lior in si shoot, 

"Wliii'li slio niiisl still |)iirsiio liowo'or iilViiid : 
"l"\v;is wliilo ;iiid iiidisliiu'l, nor sloppM lo meet 

lIiT i^liiiii'o iKir ;;i':isp, lor si ill sho i;;i/c'd lUld j;ras})'d, 

And ran, hut it osoapod hor as .sho idasp'd. 

The dfciim chanji'cd : — in a oavc she stood, its walls 

Were lumji' with niarhlo icicles: the work 
01' ages on its walor-lVotled halls, 

AVhorc! wavi's might, wash, and seals might brood and lurk ; 
Tier hair was dripping, and the very halls 

Of hor lihiok oyos si'om'd lurn'd to tears, and mirjc 
Till' shiirp roi'ks look'd Ixdow each drop thev caught, 
Which IVo/o to uiarhk: as it I'ell, — sho thouglit. 

And wot, and cold, and lifeless at her feet, 

I'iile as the foam that froth'd on his dead hrow, 

Which she essay'd in vain to clear, (how swct.'t 
Were once her oai'os, how idle scom'd Ihey now!) 

Lay .Fuaii, nor could aught renew the heat 

Of ins quonch'd heart; and tin; sea dirges low 

Hang in her sad ears lik(! a niennaid's song, 

And that hrief tlrcani ajipear'd a life too long. 

And gazing on the dead, sl»e thought his face 

Faded, or alter'd into something new — 
Like to her fMlher's features, till each trace 

]\lor(> like and like to Landii'o's aspect grew — 
A\'ith all his keen worn look and (irocian grace; 

And starting, she awoke, and what to view ? 
Oh ! Powers of Heaven ! what ilark eye meets she tlici'C ? 
'Tis — 'tis her father's — ilx'd upon the pair! 

Then shrieking, she arose, and shrieking fell, 
With joy and sorrow, hope and fear, lo see 

Ilini whom she deem'd a hal)itant whore dwell 
The f)cean-huried, risen from iloath, to ho 

Perchance the death f)f one she loved too well: 
Dear as her father had heen to llaidee. 

It was a moment of that awful kind — - 

I have seen sueh — hut must not call to mind. 



MOORISH PICTURE. 

I leave Don Juan for the present, safe — 
Not sound, poor fellow, but severely wounded ; 

Yet could his corporal pangs amount to half 

Of those with which his llaidee's bosom botinilo.l. 

She was not one to weep, and rave, anil chafe, 
And liicn give way, subdued because surrounded; 

Her mother was a Moorish maid, from Fez, 

Wh(;re idl is Eden, or a wilderness. 



682 EXTRACTF^ FROM DON JUAN. 

There the larffc olive rains its amber store 

In marble louts ; there j^rain, and flower, and &uit. 

Gush from the earth until tlic land runs o'er: 
But there, too, many a poison-tree has root, 

And midni^^ht listens to the lion's roar, 

And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot, 

Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan ; 

And as the soil is, so the heart of man. 

Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth 

Her human clay is kindled; full of power 

For good or evil, bin-ning from its birth. 

The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, 

And like the soil l)cneath it will bnng forth : 
Beauty and love were llaidee's mother's dower; 
«But her large <lark eye show'd deep Passion's force, 

Though sleeping like a lion near a source. 



DANTE'S COLUMN. 

I pass each day where Dante's Iwnes are laid : 
A little cupola, more neat than solemn, 

Protects his dust, but reverence hei'e is paid 

To the bard's tuml), and not the ^varrior's column : 

The time must come, when both alike decay'd, ^^" 
The chieftain's trophy and the poet's volume, 

"Will sink where lie the sonj^sand wars of earth, 

Before Pelides' death, or Homer's birth. 

Witli human liloiid that column was cemented, 
Witii hiniKiu (ijlli (hat colninn is defiled, 

As if the peasant's coarse ('(jntempt were vented 
To show his loathing of the spot he soil'd : 

Thus is the trophy used, and thus lamented 

Should ever be those bloodhounds, from whose wild 

Instinct of gore and glory earth has known 

Those sufl'erings Dante saw in hell alone. 



LOVE. 



Thrones, worlds, et cetera, arc so oft upset 
By commonest ambition, that when passion 

O'erthrows the same, we i-eadily forget, 

Or at the least l'(;rgiv<', the loving rash one. 

If Antony be well roineinber'd yet, 

'Tis not his conquests keep his name in fashion, 

But Actium, lost for Cleopatra's eyes, 

Outbalances all Caesar's victories. 

He died at fifty for a queen of forty ; 

I wish their yeai-s liad been fifteen and twenty. 
For then vveaJth, kingdoms, worlds are but a sport — I 

Remember when, tliough 1 had no great plenty 
Of worlds to lose, yet still, to pay my court, I 

Gave what I had — a hcai-t : as tlie world went, I 
Gave what was worth a world ; for worlds could never 
Bestore me those pure feelings, gone for ever. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 683 

'Twas the bov's " mite," and like flie " widow's," may 

Perhaps be* weig-h'd hcreal'tcr, if not now ; 
But whether such things do or do not weigh. 

All who have loved, or love, will still allow 
Life has nought like it. God is love, they say, 

And Love 's a god, or was before the brow 
Of earth was wrinkled l)y the sins and tears 
Of— but Chronology best knows the years. 



EASTERN GROUP. 

Of those who had most genius for this sort 
Of sentimental friendship, there were three, 

Lolah, Katinka, and Dudu ; in short, 
(To save description) fair as fair can be 

Were they, according to the best report. 
Though differing in stature and degree. 

And clime and time, and country and complexion; 

They all alike admired their new connection. 

Lolah was dusk as India, and as warm ; 

Katinka was a Georgian, white anil red. 
With great blue eyes, a lovely hand and arm. 

And feet so small they scarce seem'il made to ti-ead. 
But rather skim the earth; while Dudii's form 

Look'd more adapted to be put to bed. 
Being somewhat large, and languishing, and lazy, 
Yet of a beauty that Avould drive you crazy. 

A kind of sleepy Venus seem'd Dudu, 
Yet very fit to " murder sleep " in those 

Who gazed upon her cheek's transcendent hue, 
Iler Attic forehead, and her Phidian nose : 

Few angles were there in her form, 'tis true. 

Thinner she might have been, and yet scarce lose ; 

Yet, after all, 'twould puzzle to say wliere 

It would not spoil some separate charm to pare. 

She was not violently lively, but 

Stole on your spirit like a May-day breaking; 
Her eyes were not too sparlvling, yet, half-shut, 

They put beholders in a tender taking; 
She look'd (this simile 's quite new) just cut _ 

From marble, like Pygmalion's statue waking, 
The mortal and the ma'rble still at strife, 
And timidly expanding into life. 

Lolah demanded the new damsel's name — 
" Juanna."— Well, a pretty name enough. 

Katinka ask'd her also whence she came — 

" From Spain."—" But where is Spain ? "— " Don't 
ask such stuff, 

Nor show your Georgian ignorance— for shamo ! " 
Said Loiah, with an accent rather rough. 

To poor Katinka : " Spain 's an island near 

Morocco, betwixt Egypt and Tangier." 



684 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

A POSTURE. 

She stood a moment as a Pythoness 

Stands on licr tripod, ai^onizcd, and full 

Of inspiration ;;'iitliL'i-'d from distress, 
When all tlic heart-strings lilvc wild horses pull 

The heart asunder ; — then, as more or less 

Their speeil abated or their strength grew dull, 

She sunk down on her seat by slow degrees, 

And bow'd her throbbing head o'er trembling knees.. 

Her face declined and was unseen ; her hair 
Fell in long tresses like the weeping willow, 

Sweeping the marble underneath her chair, 
Or rather sofa, (for it was all pillow, 

A low, soft ottoman,) and black despair 

Stirr'd up and down her bosom like a billow, 

Which rushes to some shore whose shingles check 

Its further course, but must receive its wreck. 

Her head hung down, and her long hair in stooping 
Conceal'd her features better than a veil : 

And one hand o'er the ottoman lay drooping, 
White, waxen, and as alabaster pale : 

Would that I were a jjaintcr ! to be grouping 

All that a poet drags into detail ! -^^ 

Oh that my words were colors ! but their tints 

May serve perhaps as outlines or slight hints. 



LOVE AND GLORY. 

O Love ! O Glory ! what are ye who fly 

Around us ever, rarely to alight ? 
There's not a meteor in the polar sky 

Of such transcendent and more fleeting flight. 
Chill, and chain'd to cold earth, we lift on high 

Om- eyes in search of either lovely light ; 
A thousand antl a thousand colors they 
Assume, then leave us on oiu- freezing way. 



WARS. 



Oh blood and thunder ! and oh blood and wounds ! 

These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem, 
Too gentle reader ! and most shocking sounds : 

And so they are ; yet thus is Glory's dream 
Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds 

x\t present such things, since they arc her theme, 
So be they her iuspirers ! Call them Mars, 
Bellona, what you will — they mean but wars. 

All was prepared — the fire, the sword, the men 
To wield them in their terrible array. 

The army, like a lion from his den, 
March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay- 



EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAN. 085 

A biiman Hydra, issuing from its fen 

To Ijrciitlic destruction on its windinof way, 
Whose Iicads were lierocs, \yliich cut oif in vain, 
Immediately in others grew again. 

History can only take things in the gross ; 

But could we know Ihem in detail, perchance 
In balancing the profit and the loss. 

War's merit it by no means might enhance, 
To waste so much gold for a little dross, 

As hath been done, mere conquest to advance. 
The drying up a single tear has more 
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore. 

And why ? because it brings self-approbation ; 

Whereas the other, after all its ghire, 
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation, 

Which (it may be) liMs not much left to spare, 
A higher title, or a loftier station, 

Though they may nuike Corruption gape or stare, 
Yet in tlu; end, except in Freedom's battles, 
Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles. 

And such they are, — and such they will be found : 

Not so Leonidas and Washington, 
Whose every battlefield is holy ground. 

Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone. 
How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound ! 

While the mere victor's may appall or stun 
The servile and the vain, such names will be 
A watchword till the future shall be free. 



WELLINGTON. 

Wellington ! (or " Villainton " — for Fame 
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways; 

Fi'ance could not even conquer your great name, 
But punn'd it down to tliis facetious phrase — 

Beating or beaten she will laugh the same), 

You have obtain'd great pensions and much praise : 

Glory like yours should any dare gainsay, 

Humanitj' would rise, and thunder " Nay ! " * 

1 don't think that you used Kinnaird quite well 
In Marin.' t's atJair — in fact, 'twas shabby, 

And like some other things won't do to tell 
Upon your tomb in Westminster's old abbey. 

Upon the rest 'tis not worth while to dwell. 

Such tales being for the tea-hours of some tabby ; 

But thougli your years as man tend fast to zero. 

In fact your grace is still but a youmj hero. 

Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much, 
Yet Europe doubtless owes "you greatly more : 

You have repair'd IjCgitimacy's crutch, 
A prop not quite so certain as before : 

* Query, Ney 1 — Printer's Devil. 



686 EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAX. 

The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch, 
Have seen and felt, how stronsjly you restore ; 
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor, 
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better.) 

You are " the best of cut-throats : " — do not start ; 

The phrase is Shakspeare's, and not misapplied :- 
War's a brain-spatterinjr, windpipe-slitting art, 

Unless her cause by right lie sanctified. 
If you have acted once a generous part. 

The world, not the world's masters, will decide, 
And I shall be delighted to learn who. 
Save you and yours, have gain'd by ^V''aterloo ? 

I am no flatterer — 3-ou've supp'd full of flattery : 
Tliey say you like it too — 'tis no great wondei\ 

He whose whole life has been assault and batteiy, 
At last may get a little tired of thunder ; 

And swallowing eulogy much more than satire, he 
May like being praised for every lucl^y blunder, 

Call'd " Saviour of the Nations " — not yet saved, 

And " Europe's Liberator" — still enslaved.* 

I've done. Now go and dine from off the plate 
Presented In' the prince of the Brazils, 

And send the sentinel before your gate 

A slice or two from your luxurious meals : f 

He fought, but has not fed so well of late. 

Some hunger, too, they say the people feels : — 

There is no douljt that you deserve your ration, 

But pi'ay give back a little to the nation. 



PYRRHONISM. 

" To be, or not to be ? " — Ere I decide, 

^ should be glad to know that which is being. 

'Tis true we speculate both far and wide, 

And deem, because we see, we are all-seeing : 

For my part, I'll enlist on neither side. 
Until 1 sec both sides for once agreeing. 

For mc, I sometimes think that life is death, 

Rather than life a mere artair of breath. 

" Que scais-je ? " was the motto of Montaigne, 

As also of the first academicians : 
That all is dubious which man may attain, 

Was one of their most favorite positions. 

* Vide Speeches in Parliament, after tlie battle of Waterloo. 

t " I at tliis time got a post, being for fatisuo, with four others. We were sent 
to break biscuit and make a mess for Lord Wellingtoirs hounds. I was very 
hungry, and tliought it a good job at tlie time, as we got our own fill wliile we 
broke the biscuit, — a tiling I liad not got for some days. Wlien tims engaged, the 
Prsdigal Son was never once out of my mind; and I sighed, as I fed the dogs, 
over my humble situation and my ruiiied hopes." — Journal of a Soldier of the 
list Regiment during the War in Spain. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. ggy 

There 's no such thing as certainty, that 's plain, 

As any of MortaHty's conditions ; 
So little do we know what we're about in 
This world, I doubt if doubt itself be doubting. 

It is a pleasant voyage perhaps to float, 

Lii<c Pyrrho, on a sea of speculation; 
But what if carrying sail capsize the boat ? 

Your wise men don't know much of navigation; 
And swimming long in the alnss of thought 

Is apt to tire : a calm and shallow station 
Well nigh the shore, where one stoops down and gathers 
Some pretty shell, is best for moderate bathers. 



ENGLAND. 

I've no great cause to love that spot of earth , 
Which holds what might have been the noblest nation ; 

But though I owe it little but my birth, 
I feel a mix'd regret and veneration 

For its decaying fame and former worth. 

Seven years (the usual term of transportation) 

Of absence lay one's old resentments level, 

When a man's country 's going to the devil. 

Alas ! could she but fully, truly, know 

How her great name is now throughout abhorr'd; 

How eager all the earth is for the blow 

"Which sliall lay bare her bosom to the sword; 

How all the nations deem her their worst foe, 
That worse than worst of foes, the once adored 

False friend, who held out freedom to mankind. 

And now would chain them, to the very mind ; — 

Would she be proud, or boast herself the free, 
Who is but first of slaves ? The nations are 

In prison, — but the jailer, what is he ? 
No less a victim to the bolt and bar. 

Is the poor privilege to turn the key 

Upon the captive, freedom ? He's as far 

From the enjoyment of the earth and air 

Who watches o'er the chain, as they who wear. 



BEEKLEY. 

When Bishop Berkley said " there was no matter,'' 
And proved it — 'twas no matter what he said : 

They say his system 'tis in vain to batter, 
Too subtile for the airiest human head ; 

And yet who can believe it ? I would shatter 
(jladly all matters down to stone or lead, 

Or adamant, to find the world a spirit, 

And wear my head, denying that I wear it. 



688 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

What a sublime discoveiy 'twas to make the 

Universe universal egotism, 
That all 's ideal — all ourselves ! I'll stake the 

World (be 't what you will) that that 's no schism. 
O Doubt ! — if thou bc'st Doubt, for which some take thee, 

But wliich I doubt extremely — thou sole jsrism 
Of the Truth's rays, spoil not my draught of spirit! 
Heaven's brand}', though our brain can Jiardly bear it. 

For ever and anon comes Indigestion, 

(Not the most " Dainty Ariel,") and perplexes 

Our soarings with another sort of question : 
And that which after all my spirit vexes, 

Is, that I find no spot where man can rest eye on, 
Without confusion of the sorts and sexes. 

Of beings, stars, and this unriddled wonder, 

The world, which at the worst 's a glorious blunder. 



POETICAL CHARACTERS. 

Sir Walter reign'd before me ; Moore and Campbell 
Before and after ; but now grown more holy, 

The Muses upon Sion's hill must ramble 
With poets almost Clergymen, or wholly; 

And Pegasus has a psalmodic amble 

Beneath the very Reverend Rowley Powley, 

Who shoes the glorious animal with stilts, 

A modern Ancient Pistol — by the hilts ! 

Still he excels that artificial hard 

Laborer in the same vineyard, though the vine 
Yields him but vinegar for his reward, — 

That neutralized dull Dorus of the Nine ; 
That swarthy Sporus, neither man or bard : 

That ox of verse, who ploughs for every line : — 
Cambyses' roaring Romans beat at least 
The howling Hebrews of Cybele's priest. 

Then there 's my gentle Euphues ; who, they say, 
Sets up for being a sort of moral me ; 

He'll find it rather difficnlt some day 
To turn out both, or either, it may be. 

Some persons think that Coleridge hath the swaj- ; 
And Wordsworth has supporters, two or three ; 

And that deep-mouth'd Bceotian " Savage Landor" 

Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's gander. 

John Keats, who was kill'd off by one critique. 
Just as he regally promised something great. 

If not intelligible, without Greek 

Contrived to talk about the gods of late. 

Much as they might have been supposed to speak. 
Poor fellow ! his was an untoward fate ; 

'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,* 

Should let itself be suuff'd out by an article. 

* " Divinae particulum aurse." 



EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAN. 689 

The list cfrows lonjr of live and dead pretenders 
To that which none will g-ain — or none will know 

The conqueror at least ; who, ere Time renders 
His last award, will have the lonj? grass grow 

Above his hurnt-ont brain, and sapless cinders. 
If I might augur, I should rate but low 

Their chances ; — they're too numerous, like the thirty 

Mock tyrants, when Home's annals wax'd but dirty. 



A SOT. 



Thrice happy he, who, after a sui-vey 
Of the good company, can win a corner, 

A door that's in or boudoir out of the way, 

Where lie may fix: himself, like small "Jack Horner," 

And let the Babel round ran as it may. 
And look on as a mourner, or a scorner, 

Or an approver, or a niei-c spectator. 

Yawning a little as the night grows later. 



MONEY. 



Why call the miser miserable ? as 

I said before : the frugal life is his, 
Which in a saint or cynic ever was 

The theme of praise : a hermit woukl not miss 
Canonization for the selfsame cause, — 

And wherefore blame gaunt wealth's austerities ? 
Because, you'll say, nought calls for such a trial ; — 
Then there 's more merit in his self-denial. 

He is your only poet; — passion, pure. 

And sparkling on from heap to heap, displays 

Possess'd, the ore, of wliiCh tnere hopes allure 
Nations athwart the deep : the golden rays 

Flash up in ingots from the mine obscure : 
On him the diamond pours its brilliant blaze ; 

While the mild emerald's beam shades down the dies 

Of other stones, to soothe the miser's eyes. 

The lands on either side are his : the ship 
From Ceylon, Inde, or far Cathay, unloads 

For him the fragrant produce of each trip ; 
Beneath his cars of Ceres groan the roads, 

And the vine blushes like Aurora's lip ; 
His very cellars might be kings' abodes ; 

While he,' despising every sensual call, 

Commands — the inteUectual lord of all. 

Perhaps he hath great projects in his mind, 
To build a college, or to found a race. 

An hospital, a church, — and leave behind 
Some dome surmounted by his meagre face. 

Perhaps he would fain liberate mankind 

Even with the very ore which makes them base; 

Perhaps he would be wealthiest of his nation, 

Or revel in the joys of calculation. 
44 



690 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

But whether all, or each, or none of these 
May be the hoarder's principle of action, 

The lool will call such mania a disease : — 
What is his ownf Go — look at each transaction, 

Wars, revels, love — do these brinj? men more ease 
Than the mere plodding through each " vulgar 
fraction " ? 

Or do they benefit mankind ? Lean miser! 

Let spentithrifts' heirs inquire of yours — who's wiser ? 

How beauteous are rouleaus ! how charaaing chests 
Containing ingots, bags of dollars, coins 

(Not of old victors, all whose lieads and crests 
Weigh not the thin ore where their visage shines. 

But) of line unclipt gold, where dully rests 

Some likeness, which the glittering cirque confines, 

Of modern, reigning, sterling, stupid stamp : — 

Yes ! ready money is Aladdin's lamp. 

" Love rules the camp, the court, the grove, — for love 
Is heaven, and heaven is love : " — so sings the bard; 

Which it were rather difficult to prove, 
(A thing with ]ioetry in general hard.) 

Perhaps there may be something in " the grove," 
At least it rhymes to " love : " but I'm prepared 

To doubt (no less than landlords of their rental) -^ 

If " courts " and " camps " be quite so sentimental. 



THE FORTUNE. 

How all the needy honorable misters. 

Each out-at-elbow peer, or desperate dandy. 

The watchful mothers, and the careful sisters, 
(Who, by the by, when clevei', arc more handy 

At making matches, where " 'tis gold that glisters," 
Than their he relatives,) like flics o'er candy 

Buzz round " the Fortune " with their busy batteiy, 

To turn her head with waltzing and with tiattery ! 

Each aunt, each cousin, hath her speculation ; 

Nay, maixied dames will now and then discover 
Such pure disinterestedness of passion, 

I've known them court an heiress for their lover. 
" TantaMie ! " Such the virtues of high station. 

Even in the hopeful Isle, whose outlet 's " Dover! " 
While the poor rich wretch, object of these cares, 
Has cause to wish her sire had had male heirs. 

Some are soon bagg'd, and some reject three dozen. 

'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals 
And wild dismay o'er ever}- angry cousin, 

(Friends of tlie party,) who begin accusals, 
Such as — " Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosen 

Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals 
To his billets ? Why waltz with liim ? Whj', I pray. 
Look yes last night, and yet say no to-day ? 



EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAX. Q21 

" Why ?— Why ?— Besides, Fred really was attached; 

'Twas not her fortune — he has enoujjh without : 
The time will come she '11 wish that she had suatch'd 

So g-ood an opportunity, no doubt : — 
But the old Marchioness some plan had hatch'd, 

As I'll tell Aurea at to-morrow's rout : 
And after all poor Frederick may do better — 
Pray, did you see her answer to "his letter ? " 

Smart uniforms and sparklinor coronets 
Are spurn'd in turn, until her turn arrives, 

After male loss of time, and hearts, and bets 
Upon the sweepstakes for substantial wives; 

And when at last the jn-etty creature gets 
Some <rentleman, who fiyhts, or writes, or drives, 

It soothes the awkward squad of the rejected, 

To find how very badly she selected. 



QUIXOTISM. 

Roup-h Johnson, the great moralist, profess'd. 
Right honestly, " he liked an honest hater! " — 

The only truth that yet has been confess'd 
Within these latest thousand years, or later. 

Perhaps the fine old fellow spoke in jest: — 
For my part I am but a mere spectator, 

And gaze where'er the palace or the hovel is. 

Much in the mode of Goethe's Mephistopheles ; 

But neither love nor hate in much excess ; 

Though 'twas not once so. If I sneer sometimes. 
It is because I cannot well do less. 

And now and then it also suits my rhymes. 
I should be very willing to redress 

Men's wrongs, and rather cheek than punish crimes, 
Had not Cervantes, in that too true tale 
Of Quixote, shown how all such etforts fail. 

Of all tales 'tis the saddest — and more sad, 
Because it makes us smile : his hero 's right, 

And still pursues the right ; — to curb the bad 
His only object, and 'gainst odds to light 

His guerdon : 'tis his virtue makes him mad ! 
But his adventures form a sorry sight; — 

A sorrier still is the great moral taught 

By that real epic unto all who have thought. 

Redressing injury, revenging wrong. 

To aid the damsel and destroy the caitiif ; 

Opposing singly the united strong. 
From foreign yoke to free the helpless native : — 

Alas ! must nolilcst views, like an old song, 
Bo for mere fancy's sport a theme creative, 

A jest, a riddle. Fame through thick and thin sought ! 

And Socrates himself but Wisdom's Quixote ? 



692 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

Cervantes smiled Spain's chivalry away ; 

A single laug-h demolish'd the right arm 
Of his own country ; — seldom since that day 

Has Spain had heroes. While Romance could charm, 
The world gave ground before her bright array ; 

And therefore have his volumes done such liarm, 
That all their glory, as a composition, 
Was dearly purchased by his land's perdition. 



NORMAN ABBEY. 

To Norman Abbey whirl'd the noble pair, — 

An old, old monastery once, and now 
Still older mansion, — of a rich and rare 

Mix'd Gothic, such as artists all allow 
Few specimens yet left us can compare 

Withal : it lie's perhajis a little low, 
Because the monks pret'err'd a hill behind, 
To shelter their devotion from the wind. 

It stood cmbosom'd in a happy valley, 

Crown'd by high woodlands, where the Druid oak 
Stood like Caractacus in act to rally -^^ 

llis host, with l)road arms 'gainst the thunder stroke-, 
And from beneath his boughs were seen to sally 

The dappled foresters — as da_v awoke, 
The branching stag swept down witli all his herd, 
To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird. 

Before the mansion lay a lucid lake, 

liroad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed 

By a river, which its soften'd waj' did take 
In currents through the calmer water spread 

Around : the wildfowl nestled in the brake 
And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed : 

The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stood 

With their green faces fix'd upon the tlood. 

Its outlet dash'd into a deep cascade, 
Sparkling with foam, until again subsiding, 

Its shriller echoes — like an infant made 
Quiet — sank into softer ripjiles, gliding 

Into a rivulet ; and thus allay'd, 

Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hiding 

Its windings through the woods ; now clear, now blue, 

According as the skies their shadows threw. 

A glorious I'cmnant of the Gothic pile 

(While yet the churcli was Rome's) stood half apart 
In a grand arcli, which once screen'd many an aisle. 

These last had disappcar'd— a loss to art : 
The first j'ct frown'd superbly o'er the soil. 

And kindled feelings in the roughest heart. 
Which mourn'd the power of time's or tempest's march, 
In gazing on that venerable arch. 



EXTRACTS FROM DOX JUAN. 693 

Within a niche. ni<rh to its pinnacle, 

Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone; 

But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, 

But in the war which struck Charles from his throne. 

When each house was a fortalice — as tell 
The annals of full many a line undone, — 

The ;rallant cavaliers, wlio fou^lit in vain 

For those who knew not to resign or reign. 

But in a hio:her niche, alone, but ci'own'd, 
The Virg-iii Mother of tlie CJod-born Child, 

With her Son in her hlesscd arms look'd round, 

Spared by some chance when all beside was spoil'd ; 

She made the earth below seem holy ground. 
This may be superstition, weak or wild, 

But even Ihe faintest relics of a shrine 

Of any worship wake some thoughts divine. 

A mighty window, hollow in the centre. 

Shorn of its glass of thousand colorings. 
Through which the deepcn'd glories once could enter, 

Streaming from otf the sun like seraph's wings. 
Now yawns all desolate : now loud, now fainter, 

The gale sweeps througli its fretwork, and oft sings 
The owl his anthem, where the silenced quire 
Lie with their hallelujahs quench'd like nre. 

But in the noontide of the moon, and when 
The wind is wing'd from one point of heaven. 

There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then 
Is musical — a dying accent driven 

Through the huge arch, which soars and sinks again, 
Some deem it but the distant echo yiven 

Back to the niurht wind by the waterfall. 

And harmonized by the old choral wall : 

Others, that some original shape, or form 

Shapei! by decay perchance, hath given the power 

(Though less than that of Memnon's statue, warm 
In Egypt's rays, to harp at a fix'd hour) 

To this gray ruin, with a voice to charm 

Sad, but serene, it sweeps over tree or tower; 

The cause I know not, nor can solve ; but such 

The fact : I've heard it, — once, perhaps, too much. 

Amidst the court a Gothic fountain play'd. 

Symmetrical, but dci-k'd with carvings quaint — 

Strange faces, like to men in masquerade. 
And here perhaps a monster, there a saint : 

The spring gush'd through grim mouths of granite made, 
And sparkled into basins, where it spent 

Its little torrent in a thousand bubbles. 

Like man's vain glory, and his vainer troubles. 

The mansion's self was vast and venerable. 

With more of the monastic than has been 
Elsewhere preserved : the cloisters still were stable, 

The cells, too, and refectory, I ween : 



694: EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

An exquisite small chapel had been able, 
Still unimpair'd, to decorate the scene; 
The rest had liecu relbrni'd, replaced, or sunk, 
And spoke more of the baron than the monk. 

Huge halls, long- g-allcries, spacious chambei'S, join'd 
By no quite lawful marriage of the arts, 

Might shock a connoisseur ; but when combined, 
Form'd a whole which, irregular in parts, 

Yet left a grand impression on the mind, 

At least of those whose eyes, are in their hearts; 

We gaze upon a giant for his stature, 

Nor judge at first if all be true to nature. 

Steel barons, molten the next generation 
To silken rows of gay and garter'd earls, 

Glanced from the walls in goodly preservation : 
And Lady Marys blooming into girls. 

With fair long locks, had also kept their station : 
And countesses mature in rohes and pearls; 

Also some beauties of Sir Peter Lely, 

Whose drapery hints we may admire them freely. 

Judges in very formidable ermine 

Were there, with brows that did not much invite 
The accused to tliink their lordships would determine'' 

His cause by leaning much from might to right ; 
Bishops, who had not left a single sermon ; 

Attorneys-general, awful to the sight, 
As hinting more (unless our judgments warp us) 
Of the " Star Chamber" than of " Habeas Corpus." 

Generals, some all in armor, of the old 
And iron time, ere lead had ta'en the lead ; 

Others in wigs of INIarlhorough's martial fold, 
Huger than twehe of our degenerate l:)rced : 

Lordlings, with staves of white or keys of gold : 
Nimrods, whose canvas scarce contain'd the steed ; 

And here and there some stern high patriot stood, 

Who could not get the place for which he sued. 

But ever and anon, to soothe your vision, 
Fatigued with these hereditary glories. 

There rose a Carlo Dolce or a Titian, 
Or wilder group of savage Salvatore's : * 

Here danced All)ano's boys, and here the sea slaone 
In Vernet's ocean lights ; anil there the stories 

Of martyrs awed, as Spagnoletto tainted 

His brush with all the blood of all the sainted. 

Here sweetly spread a landscape of Lorraine ; 

There Rembrandt made his darkness equal light, 
Or gloomy Caravaggio's gloomier stain 

Bronzed o'er some lean and stoic anchorite : — 

* Salvator Rosa. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. (505 

But, lo ! a Tcniers wooes, and not in vain, 

Your eyes to revel in a livelier sij,''ht : 
His bell-mouth'd goblet makes me feci quite Danish* 
Or Dutch with thirst— What, ho ! a flask of Eheuish. 



THE SUICroE. 

A sleep without dreams, after a rough day 

Of toil, is what we covet most ; and yet 
How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay ! 

The very Suicide that pays his debt 
At once without instalments (an old way 

Of paying dolits, which creditors regret) 
Lets out impatiently his rushing breath, 
Less from disgust of life than dread of death. 

'Tis round him, near him, here, there, eveiywhere, 
And there 's a courage which grows out of fear. 

Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare 
The worst to know it: — when the mountains reaj- 

Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there 
You look down o'er the precipice, ;ind drear 

The gulf of rock yawns, — you can't gaze a minute, 

Without an awful wish to plunge within it. 

'Tis true, you don't, but, pale and struck with terror. 
Retire : but look into your past impression ! 

And you will find, though shuddenug at the mirror 
Of your own thoughts, in all their self-coufession, 

The lurking l)ius, be it truth or eiTor, 
To the unkncncn ; a secret prepossession. 

To plunge with all your fcai-g — but where ? You know not. 

And that 's the reason why j-ou do — or do not. 



MOTIVES. 



I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle 

Which with the landlord makes too long a stand, 

Leaving all claretless the unmoisteu'd throttle, 
Esi^ecially with politics on hand ; 

I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle. 

Who whirl the dust as simooms whirl the sand ; 

I hate it as I hate an argument, 

A laureate's ode, or servile peer's " content." 

'Tis sad to hack into the roots of things, 
They are so much intertwisted with the earth ; 

So that the branch a goodly verdure flings, 
I reck not if an acorn gave it birth. 

* If I err not, " your Dane " is one of lago's catalogue of nations "exquisite 
In their drinking." 



G96 EXTRACTS FROM DOy JUAN. 

To trace all actions to their secret springs 

Would make indeed some melancholy mirth; 
But this is not at present my concern, 
And I refer you to wise Oxenstiern.* 



TRUTH. 



'Tis strange, hut true ; for truth is always strange ; 

Stranger than fiction : if it could he told, 
How much would novels gain hy the exchange ! 

How ditt'erently the world woukl men behold! 
How oft would vice and virtue places change ! 

The new world would lie nothing to the old, 
If some Columbus of the moral seas 
Would show mankind their souls' antipodes. 

What " antres vast and deserts idle " then 
Would be discover'd in the human soul! 

What icebergs in the hearts of mighty men. 
With self-love in the centre as their pole ! 

What Anthropophagi are nine of ten 

Of those who holil the kingdoms in control! 

Were things but only call'd by their right name, 

Caesar himself would be ashamed of fame. 



VANITY. 



The evaporation of a joyous day 

Is like the last glass of champagne, without 

The foam which made its virgin bumper gay; 
Or like a system coupled with a doubr ; 

Or like a soda-bottle when its spi-ay 

Has sparkled and let half its spirit out; 

Or like a billow left by storms behind, 

Without the animation of the wind ; 

Or like an opiate, which brings troubled rest. 
Or none ; or like — like nothing that I know 

Except itself; — such is the human breast; 
A thing, of whicli similitudes can show 

No real likeness, — like the old Tyrian vest 
Dyed purple, none at present can tell how, 

If from a shell-fish or from cochineal.t 

So perish every tyrant's robe piecemeal ; 

But next to dressing for a rout or ball, 

Undressing is a woe ; our robe-dc-chambre 

May sit like that of Nessus, and recall 

Thoughts quite as yellow, but less clear than amber. 

• The famous Chancellor Oxenstiern said to his son, on the latter expressing 
his surprise upon the great effects arising from petty causes in the presumed 
mystery of politics : " You see by this, my son, with liow little wisdom the king- 
doms of the world are governed." 

t The composition of tlie old Tyrian purple— wliether fVom a shell-fish, or 
from cochineal, or from kerraes, is still an article of dispute; and even its 
color — some say purple, others scarlet: I say nothing. 



EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 697 

Titus oxoiaim'd, " I've lost a day ! " Of all 

The ni^'iits uiul daj's most people can remember, 
(I have had of both, some not to be disdaiii'd,) 
I wish they'd state how many they have gaiu'd. 



ADELINE'S SONG. 

TUE BLACK FKIAK. 
1. 

Beware ! beware ! of the Black Friar, 

Who sitteth by Norman stone, 
For he mutters his prayer in the midnight air, 

And iiis mass of tlie days that are gone. 
When the Lord of the Hill, Amundeville, 

Made Norman Church his prey. 
And expell'd the friars, one friar still 

Would not be driven away. 

2. 

Though he came in his might, with King Henry's right, 

To turn ciuirch lands to lay. 
With sword in hand, and torch to light 

Their walls if they said nay ; 
A monk remain'd unchascd, unchain'd, 

And he did not seem form'd of clay, 
For he 's seen in the porch, and he 's seen in the church. 

Though he is not seen by day. 



And whether for good, or whether for ill, 

It is not mine to say ; 
But still witii the house of Amundeville 

He abideth night and day. 
By the marriage-bed of their lords, 'tis said. 

He flits on the bridal eve ; 
And 'tis held as faith, to their bed of death 

He comes — but not to grieve. 

4. 
When an heir is born, he 's heard to mourn. 

And wlien aught is to befall 
That ancient line, in the pale moonshine 

He walks from hall to hall. 
His form you ma}' trace, but not his face, 

'Tis shadow'd by his cowl : 
But his eyes may be seen from the folds between. 

And the}' seem of a parted sotd. 

5. 

But beware ! beware ! of the Black Friar, 

He still retains his sway. 
For he is yet the Church's heir, 

Whoever may be the lay. 



S98 EXTRACTS FROM DON JUAN. 

Amiindcvillc is lord by day, 
]?ut the monk is lord liy nijrht ; 

Nor wiuc nor wassail could raise a vassal 
To question that Iriar's right. 

n 6. 

Say nought to him as he walks the hall, 

Anil he'll say nought to you : 
He sweeps along in his dusky pall, 

As o'er the grass the dew. 
Thou graninici'cy ! lor the Black Friar; 

Heaven sain iiini ! fair or foul, 
And whatsoe'er ni;>,j- be his prayer, 

Let ours be for )iis soul. 



^ 



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